The Eldest of the Pleiades
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: Orphaned, Maia is sent to No 12 to live with her uncle, Sirius Black. With the Order stopping for tea, foreign friends, mischief, music and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Umbridge's reign of terror, an outbreak from Azkaban and Harry Potter's latest escape from Voldemort, she's in for an unusual summer. *A rewrite of my original Eldest of the Pleiades.
1. Maia

**A.N.**: Please don't kill me! I got hooked on the idea of rewriting this *again* so it's more streamlined, believable etc., and I can work on George and Maia's relationship more.

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**The Eldest of the Pleiades**

_01_

_Maia_

* * *

The shimmering figure that glimmered in the corner of her eye made Maia's heart sink to her stomach, the extra weight pressing down on her already stooped figure – stooped, because her entire body seeming to echo the emotional exhaustion she endured. She clenched her jaw, her face tired, stiff, her skin scratchy from salt-tears, and she sniffed and wiped her dripping chin on the back of her arm as she got stuck in, turning the vegetable-patch for new-potatoes. Down the lane, the tall figure wandered idly toward her, and she knew by the cut of the robes and the richness of the embroidery, the glittering silver beard tucked into his belt, exactly who it was.

She shouldn't have been surprised – but she let out a choked sigh and kept turning the earth. Visitors weren't a rarity – though a Squib, her great-aunt had been a celebrity in the wizarding community, the leading biographer in the world, and one of her greatest delights was inviting guests to afternoon-tea. Carved into gentle hills in the middle of nowhere, amongst picturesque meadows speckled with wildflowers, sweeping green lawns and swans gliding idly by on delicately-gurgling streams tracing through the countryside like ribbons flashing like silver in the sunshine, untouched by modernity, the panelled warren Maia had grown up in, her home, the spread of meadows and woods, now seemed desolate without the woman who had made it home.

Maia hadn't put makeup on in days, had only just this week started wearing a bra, leaving her TARDIS even just to venture to the orchard to tend her bees. She hadn't brushed her hair in two days. And Maia was obsessed, took delight in the creativity and challenge of developing her own magical cosmetics – that said something. It didn't matter – Uncle Albus had known her since her earliest infancy; Diane had teased that Maia had spit up chocolate-cake and cheesy broccoli all over his robes. So he could handle a fifteen-year-old with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks and her hair in tangles.

For heaven's sake, he was headmaster of a _school_. He'd seen it all. She was sure he had seen a few girls turn their boyfriends into animals in a fit of annoyance and hurt feelings. What was an owl from the Improper Use of Magic office, when he had probably handed out detentions for the same magic? Maia had never been to Hogwarts, Uncle Albus was not her headmaster. And she hadn't even been using her wand! But he had been one of Diane's oldest friends, Maia had grown up with the eccentric, mesmerising old wizard dropping in for tea with Diane and Uncle Septimus. Uncle Albus was the awing figure Maia remembered from her childhood, always appearing with sweets and making dazzling, beautiful things with his wand, miniature fireworks, working models of unicorns and griffins, pretty things that twinkled and smelled beautiful and sounded like glass church-bells, sweets so sumptuous she could remember every detail of them to this day, sometimes bringing a toy or, more usually as she got older, a book, a hard-to-obtain potions ingredient, a piece of magical equipment. Diane used to tease him as one might a much-younger brother she had doted on. Especially after Septimus had died, and Diane had realised…she was the last one left, the last of her siblings – the last of Maia's family.

Uncle Albus had arrived at the polished Hobbit-hole just in time to say goodbye, the evening before Diane had died. But not in the room, like Maia had been, holding her aunt's freshly-manicured hand as the light had left her aunt's luminous, mercurial eyes. Great Aunt Diane had been ancient all Maia's young life; and at fifteen Maia had always expected that Diane would continue on long after she herself was grown, with children of her own for Diane to teach and cuddle. That was how it was supposed to be. Not this.

Diane was never supposed to _die_.

But she had. The unthinkable had happened – what was she supposed to do now?

She was still waiting for Aunt Diane to come wandering into her room at an absurd hour, wanting to read tea-leaves, or else rescuing them all from a "conflagration" of Diane's making as she tried to toast her own crumpets, dawdling around the house with her crochet-hook and her classical records, lovingly polishing the photograph-frames she had collected for decades. Her pictures, her _treasures_.

The person Maia loved dearest in the entire world, was gone – she didn't know what to _do_ without Diane. Maia's entire life had been dedicated to the eccentric, mercurial, _ancient_ woman who seemed to transcend time's influence. The woman who had made Maia's life extraordinary. Gone. Her eyes burned, and she wished he hadn't come. Uncle Albus was a great wizard, and a good man; she knew the constraints on his time. He never did anything without purpose. Had her magical outburst been enough to draw him here?

"Dashy!" she called scratchily, clearing her throat and wishing her eyes weren't burning so much. "Put the kettle on, please! Uncle Albus is here." There was an excitable squeak from inside the polished warren, and the free elf Maia, Septimus and Diane had tucked into their tiny family nearly fourteen years ago was rushing around the Hobbit-hole putting tea together.

Of all the ancient people Maia wanted to see dawdling up her garden-path, Uncle Albus wasn't in the top slot. And she knew it was because of that that he was here. Had he taken her brief preoccupation with cephalopods as a cry for help?

That had been the first time in a very long time that Maia had used magic without intending to – without her _wand_. As a little girl her temper had usually gotten the better of her, only encouraged by mad Uncle Septimus, and she had become notorious at her Muggle primary-school for the weird and wonderful things she had got up to. Even at sixth-form college she had indulged in naughtiness for the sake of having some fun and pushing boundaries. Diane used to say Maia had been born with two witches' talents – her own, and Diane's: as a Squib, Diane had been born with no innate magical ability that could be quantified by the use of a wand. She had had her own mysticism, though. But Diane had always been exceptionally proud of how self-motivated and driven Maia was in her independent study of magic. She had always believed people learned far more when they _wanted_ to learn – and Maia was voracious as an academic, as an inventor and someone who enjoyed more than anything experiments, and meticulous research. And all for the sake of fun. She would spend weeks working on something that would end up a disguised jinx she would send to her best-friend Elsa's older-sister at Hogwarts, knowing the moment Etherly shared out that cake half the Hufflepuff common-room would come down with incredibly unusual – and highly embarrassing – boils on their backsides; she would never see the results herself, but the _thought_ of the reaction in the Hufflepuff common-room made Maia's stomach hurt from laughing about it with Elsa.

She wasn't a "trouble-maker" per se, in fact when Maia was enthralled by learning, she was an exceptional student – but she had a sense of humour and an uncanny ability with Charms and Potions; mixed with an appreciation of baking and her own unique pursuits, this made quite a hilarious combination. She was for the most part self-taught, except for a few rare spur-of-the-moment lectures from Sluggy when he came to tea, and Uncle Septimus' influence when she was still very small. There had been a few hair-raising situations she was glad to have come through unscathed; Diane had always believed experience was as vitally important as learning from books, so as Maia researched, Septimus and Diane had organised foreign holidays.

Maia could have gone to Hogwarts if she'd put her foot down and demanded it – but Diane had raised her the way she believed would be most beneficial to Maia in the long-run, and after Septimus had died Maia couldn't handle the thought of leaving Diane alone: this meant attending a Muggle school – then being bumped up two years due to an incredible mind and an unusual work-ethic in someone of her age: she had just sat her A-Levels at fifteen, and while sometimes the experience had been lonely, learning alongside eighteen-year-olds and sailing through sometimes treble their workload, ultimately Maia enjoyed her life. Attending lessons during the week, visiting Elsa on days off, and going out dancing in Diagon Alley – she could've gone dancing every night if she'd wanted: she enjoyed having the freedom to study exactly what she wanted to the level she expected of her own research, when she wasn't in her workshop her stomach ached with yearning to pore over her punishingly-detailed notes, experimenting, inventing, being _creative_, listening to her records out of Diane's way, in her own space.

She wasn't upset that she had never attended Hogwarts: and she was in a unique position amongst witches her age, for she experienced the best of both cultures, and at least had an appreciation and understanding of the worse parts. Her knowledge of Muggle culture was exceptional: she had learned Muggle history, the cultures of different nations; she socialised with Muggles on a daily basis, they were her friends, they had fun together. And in the wizard world, she enjoyed dancing with Elsa at the _Griffin's Roost_ in Diagon Alley, meeting Elsa every month for a Butterbeer; she appreciated having been able to visit the most awe-inspiring monuments and cultures in the wizard world. Diane may have not been a witch, but she was exceptionally well-connected in the wizard world, both domestically and with a vast network of contacts abroad. Maia had grown up travelling whenever her Muggle school was out for holidays: she had learned foreign wizard cultures – European, Russian, Middle-Eastern, even African and some Far Eastern traditions. She was culturally and politically aware of the world around her.

The wizards from the Improper Use of Magic Office hadn't realised Maia didn't attend Hogwarts. They had taken it for granted that Maia was enrolled there; her impatience reaching new highs, she had explained that special circumstances had been arranged for her to study magic at home. And her wand had proven she hadn't used it to Transfigure William into that octopus, it had just happened. But her legal guardian had been contacted. And here he was, Uncle Albus, his rich robes shimmering in the intense sunshine… This summer threatened to be a heat-wave.

Until Maia turned seventeen, Professor "Uncle Albus" Dumbledore was in charge of her wellbeing.

But Diane had left Maia to the care of the greatest wizard of the age – he had a lot of things to do in his day; and Maia was not used to being taken care of, in any case. All Maia knew was helping Dashy take care of Diane, and once upon a time indulging chronically-boisterous Uncle Septimus in playtime. Now Dashy didn't know what to do any more than Maia did. Dashy took solace in trying to coddle Maia: Maia usually tried to hide with Simba, her exceptionally beautiful true Siamese beauty, a blue tabby point with the most exceptional markings and a soft gradient of colouring to her paws and tail, slender and elegant. But Simba – her _female_ Siamese – didn't know where Diane had gone, either. She had left them all discombobulated – she would enjoy that, _discombobulate_… Diane, who spouted Virgil and Keats at breakfast, who pilfered trinkets and got into all sorts of naughtiness and stole cakes from the pantry, the wondrous lady who had grown up in another world whose eyes would suddenly go faraway, whispering about her parents, her brothers, telling stories about Maia's beautiful aunts, murdered too young, and about the tricks Septimus used to play on their parents, the great-hearted woman who had taken in abandoned, banished house-elves.

The last time he had been to the Hobbit-hole, Uncle Albus had been just as he always had been, unchanged, still as stately and uncompromisingly kind as ever. A sense of foreboding settled in Maia's stomach, suddenly chilled, setting back on her booted heels, frowning as she watched the professor dawdle down the lane toward her. Why was he here? The issue with the octoboyfriend had been resolved; she had accepted her warning with a roll of her eyes. She had taken her A-Levels, and sixth-form had broken up. She was free.

Not quite. Uncle Albus's half-moon spectacles flashed in the sunshine as he paused in front of her; he shook his long sleeves back, snapping a pea-pod from the curling orange-specked vines growing all over a cane obelisk, and that feeling returned, the ominous one that weighed on her stomach.

"Good evening, Maia," he said politely, when he had finished munching delightedly on the fat, sweet peas. Maia checked her watch – it was nearly six p.m. She nodded.

"Hello, Uncle Albus," she said quietly, squinting behind her sunglasses. "We weren't expecting you." Uncle Albus gave her a peculiar look.

"After the warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office?" he asked, and Maia crinkled her nose. She was becoming increasingly more irritated with the Ministry of Magic, even more so with the restrictions on underage witches and wizards – especially those who did not attend a magical school, or have any supervising adult present capable of magic. And those who were suffering through a massive emotional upheaval; how was she supposed to control her magic, when she had lost the only grounding influence she had had since Uncle Septimus, Dumbledore's oldest friend?

"He deserved it," was all she would say on the matter. She sighed softly, "Would you like to come in for some tea?"

"Thank you," Uncle Albus nodded graciously.

"There might be some cake, too," she said dubiously. Diane had always been a cake-fiend, could, well past her hundredth birthday (Maia had never been quite sure which) demolish an entire cake to herself if Maia and Dashy didn't hide them properly. She was tenacious in her search for those hidden cakes, though, and Maia would frequently sneak to the cake-tin at midnight and find crumbs. Maia had noticed the abundance of cakes in the larder – Dashy kept making them, well into the night. Nobody made cakes like Dashy – and no-one had consumed them like Diane. The idea of cake now made Maia's stomach hurt, and she winced, wrinkling her nose at the spread Dashy had set out on the little round table in the parlour under the deep round window. Sunlight illuminated the room with a golden glow, glinting off crystal vases full of wildflowers, the glass panels of photograph-frames, the trinkets littered about. The Hobbit-hole was meticulously clean but comfortably cluttered with trinkets and books collected over an extremely long lifetime, by an eccentric with lots of different interests and a Gringott's account that let her indulge in an appreciation for – and the accumulation of – beautiful things.

"Cake? Do you know, in my long history of visiting this warren, I have never before expected to receive cake with tea," Uncle Albus mused, and for a moment, his ancient face was a mask of misery, pain flashing in those too-bright blue eyes. He let out a long sigh, and Maia fidgeted. His expression turned kindly and sorrowful at the same time, eyeing her indulgently like the adopted grandfather-figure Maia had always thought of him as. "I am truly very sorry, my dear."

"For what?"

"I left you alone, after losing the person dearest to you in the world," he said softly. He gave her a kind smile that did not quite reach his saddened eyes. "I can only apologise." Maia shrugged, not knowing how to respond. Aunt Diane's empty armchair seemed ten times larger than normal, standing by the little round fireplace. Diane had always teased Professor Dumbledore about his unusual appreciation for Muggle sweets – a small dish of milk-bottle sweets sat on the hand-embroidered tablecloth amongst the teacups and little plates of treats.

"It's not – You don't…" Maia wanted to say _You don't have to look after me_, but that was exactly what Diane had intended: she had made Uncle Albus her legal guardian until Maia turned seventeen. "Dashy and I are fine."

"Mm," Uncle Albus said, giving Maia a look over the top of his flashing half-moon spectacles, sipping his tea. "I am well aware that you are a fiercely independent-minded young woman. And had I not gone into teaching myself, I would perhaps have become a firm advocate for self-education, something I believe you yourself place in high value. Diane was always most proud of your passion for learning."

She was a hard-worker, and Maia had always loved to _learn_. Diane had never had any patience for the limitations of a _standard curriculum_ – and knowing the personality of her great-niece, she had never wanted to subject Maia to such restrictions. Maia didn't think she had ever _lacked_ from not going to Hogwarts. She knew many witches and wizards – definitely more than a few purebloods – would be aghast that she preferred attending a Muggle school and learning magic by herself to being blockaded up in a Scottish fortress nine months out of the year… Her education was an anomaly and one few witches had the luxury of indulging in; her magical studies were an extra, dangerous area of study for her, where no-one could clean up any messes. So Maia was reckless, but also incredibly thoughtful about her actions.

"The last time we spoke, you had just sat a series of examinations," Uncle Albus prompted. Though not yet even sixteen, Maia's teachers had all banded together when she was in Year 8 and told Septimus she needed to be put ahead at school. Maia was too clever, she got bored too easily; and when she was _bored_, she became mischievous. So she would receive her A-Level results just shy of her sixteenth birthday, in August. It was the equivalent of sitting her N.E.W.T. exams two years prematurely. And she had taken triple the number of classes expected of an A-Level student. Her classmates thought of her as intense, to the point of scariness when it came to her cleverness, and if they thought her standoffish, this was offset by her sense of adventure and a mischievous streak. One of her friends compared her to the actress Jennifer Lawrence, a compliment of very high order – she could only have been more flattered if Sarah had said 'Emma Watson'.

She nodded; Maia's last exam had been her Late History A-Level, the morning after Diane had died. She hadn't known what to do, so she had just turned up at college, ready to take the exam: she would rather write about Henry VII's frugality than try to make sense of the fact that Diane was _gone_. And she was still doing that, still spending her time researching, experimenting with her magic, focusing on anything but the fact the other rooms in the Hobbit-hole were empty of her humming, luminous-eyed eccentric aunt; Dashy was traipsing around with swimming eyes and drooping ears; Simba kept mewling, sitting on Diane's chaise…

"Mm," Uncle Albus mused, and gave her a measuring look, then seemed to come to a decision. "As we have discussed already, Diane left you to my care until your seventeenth birthday. I know you have been keeping up with your magical studies alongside attending your Muggle school." Maia was, in fact, incredibly self-disciplined when it came to school, to _learning_. She had to be; there was no one to clean up after her. Elsa called her Spencer, after Ms Hastings of _Pretty Little Liars_ fame. And Uncle Albus would know better than anyone how self-motivated she was when it came to her magical education: frequently he allowed her to send him essays she had written on eccentric subjects. Elsa had dubbed him an "enabler", often giving Maia incredibly obscure volumes on varied subjects. He liked to challenge her.

"Diane always was _wise_," Uncle Albus sighed sadly. "Batty, too, but take it from me, this develops with age."

"I don't think age could quite account for all Diane's foibles," Maia remarked, and Uncle Albus chuckled softly.

"Perhaps not," he smiled. "I was always curious about your Muggle education, but as Diane anticipated, it has done you good. And as for constantly travelling with Septimus while you are so young… I never did my Tour, you know? I had great plans for it – and later in life I managed to visit everywhere I had always dreamed of. But it would have made a difference, engrossing myself in those different cultures so young."

There were few things Maia loved more than travelling – learning foreign cultures: she adored Muggle literature, music, languages, fashion and culture. Every wizard culture across the world was different, and Diane and Septimus had nurtured in Maia a deep lust for travelling, for _exploring_. She looked forward to every school holiday. Uncle Albus continued, "As it stands, I believe you would make an exceptional addition to the fifth-year class at Hogwarts."

Maia blinked. He spoke gently, but with a dreadful sense of finality, and she bristled, anger flaring as she realised what he meant. He wanted _her_ to go to Hogwarts. Maia wondered if he realised how high-handed he was being; and if he really knew her at all. Her, limited to _Hogwarts_? Locked within stone walls in the _Highlands_? If she wanted to live in Scotland, she would move in with Elsa. But she and Elsa both agreed their friendship benefited from _space_.

She let her anger simmer down, counting, before she ground her jaw and spoke, "You want…me to go to _Hogwarts_?"

"I think the situation would become highly beneficial," Uncle Albus said mildly. "Coincidentally, your name had been down for enrolment at Hogwarts since the moment of your birth – I know the decision to forfeit your place was not made lightly, however, I think it high time you had full access to the Hogwarts library… As it happens, I also managed to find some information regarding your paternity." Maia's eyes snapped up to Uncle Albus' ancient face.

"My _father_?" Like Gandalf and the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, her father was a fleeting idea, difficult to prove its existence; only the fact _she_ was alive was testament that she had one, that he had once lived. Maia knew two things about her father: that his name was Regulus, and that he was dead.

She had been a baby during the War that had wiped out her entire family – her mother, three aunts, an uncle, her grandparents; she, Septimus and Diane were the last of a once-vast and flourishing pureblood family held in high regard the world over. Maia had never even seen a photograph of her father; her mother had never told Diane anything about Maia's father beyond the fact his family traditionally named their children after stars and constellations. Maia knew that _Regulus_ was the brightest star in the constellation _Leo_, known as the 'heart of the lion'. _Maia_ was a blue giant star in the constellation _Pleiades_. In Greek mythology, Maia was the mother of Hermes by Zeus, immortalised as a star by the god-king to comfort her father, Atlas, who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. There had been a Roman consul, Marcus Atilius Regulus, who was tortured to death, and later seen as the model of self-sacrifice and civic virtue.

Even if Maia saw his face in a photograph, she wouldn't know him anyway. She had no idea what he looked like. Or even his surname. "Did you know him?"

"He was a very gifted student of our friend Horace Slughorn's," Uncle Albus said, and Maia frowned. She doubted Sluggy had known. "I believe he was one of Horace's favourites." Maia's lips twitched then, giving Uncle Albus a not-impressed look.

"My dad was a member of the Slug Club?" She sighed, shaking her head; she had seen Horace's collection of photographs – and wondered with a jolt which face she had overlooked, her _father's_ face, presented like trophies in polished frames. Horace kept pestering her to have _her_ photograph taken.

"And Regulus was outlived by his elder brother," Uncle Albus said, snapping Maia to attention again. She found it difficult to swallow, suddenly. She… Her _uncle_ was…alive? She had an _uncle_? Where…where had he _been_? Why hadn't Diane told her? Had Diane even _known_? She had a real, live uncle. "I am assuming Diane never knew, in fact I was highly surprised myself when I discovered the truth." Maia frowned slightly. Why should he be surprised?

"Did… Does my…_uncle_ know about me?" Uncle Albus gave her a thoughtful look.

"Do you know, I don't believe he would ever make the connection," he said. "Certainly he knew _you_, when you were just a baby. He never knew you were his niece by blood. Balian certainly never told any of us… You were her treasure, her secret."

"Did you know my mother?" They _never_ talked about Maia's mother, any of her family, really; Diane couldn't bear it.

"Oh, yes," Uncle Albus nodded. "Your mother was a singularly driven member of the Order of the Phoenix."

"The what?" Maia asked sharply; she had never heard of it. Uncle Albus gave her a saddened smile.

"The Order of the Phoenix was started by myself, comprising the bravest few individuals who were determined to do all they could to fight Lord Voldemort, and his followers, during the War," he said. "It was a secret society. And just a week ago I had your uncle reinstate the Order, contacting those witches and wizards who would hear the truth." Maia frowned. She had read things in the _Prophet_ – but aside from the Entertainment section, she took the rest of the articles with a pinch of salt. She had heard things from Ailith just the other night when they had met at the _Weeping Sunflower_ to watch the _Puffskeins_ play, but none of it had been reported: all they had written about the Triwizard Tournament was that Cedric Diggory had joint-won the Triwizard Cup with Harry Potter. Diane had always thought that boy got far more trouble than anyone could ever deserve. That scar on his forehead must have been cursed.

"What kind of truth?" Maia asked. Uncle Albus' eyes were clear and calculating as he observed her.

"Lord Voldemort almost succeeded in returning to power," he said quietly, and Maia didn't wince or jump at the sound of the name. She was more afraid of being boiled alive; and perhaps she wasn't properly scared of the Dark wizard, but she was respectfully cautious, and that helped her keep her head clear when she felt like she should be afraid of the possibility he might return. Now, sitting in her sun-soaked parlour, the idea of Lord Voldemort returning to power seemed utterly absurd. But she knew that it was absolutely possible that it could happen at any time.

"_Almost_?" she frowned.

"Our young hero Mr Potter succeeded in thwarting his attempts, yet again," Uncle Albus said, with an indulgent smile: Maia knew all about Harry Potter. He regularly came up in conversation whenever Uncle Albus came for tea. Diane had liked his parents.

"I've heard some whispers," Maia admitted, "about what really happened at the Third Task, things Fudge is keen for people not to know." She pursed her lips; she didn't have any patience for the bloated tool whatsoever.

"Well, if the true version of events is filtering into wider Wizarding society, that is a start," Uncle Albus sighed softly. "One way or another the truth will always come out, no matter how hard Cornelius is leaning on Barnabas to keep things quiet."

"He doesn't want people knowing how close we were to Voldemort returning?" Maia frowned. "But – he can't be that short-sighted; things need to start _happening_. He needs to sack that Undersecretary of his, pushing through all those vile laws against other magical races. Take control of Azkaban back – they'd be the first to join his side… The _werewolves_!" Uncle Albus' eyes were twinkling – they often got into heated discussions, with Diane too, discussing politics. Half her childhood memories comprised Uncle Septimus, Albus and Diane sharing a few bottles of oak-matured mead, smoking and arguing good-naturedly about politics. Elsa thought Maia should aim to become Minister for Magic – Maia knew better: with her temper, she would most likely hex everyone she disagreed with. And considering the current political climate, she might have to Imperius half the Ministry to get things moving.

"With Lord Voldemort's latest attempt to return to power thwarted, we who acknowledge the danger are in a unique position to start using our influence as a positive force to push our society in a direction that could help prevent Lord Voldemort ever gaining a foothold as he did before," Uncle Albus mused. His eyes glittered. "Those of us who were part of the Order during the War have now turned their efforts to helping spread the word to other persons who might be brought in. To forge connections." Maia glanced shrewdly at Uncle Albus. Thanks to Diane, Maia herself was _highly_ connected. Yes, she had received a warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office, but if she had truly wanted to make some noise, she could have had the entire thing written off with a personal apology from Madam Bones for causing her inconvenience.

"What do you want from me?" Maia sighed, feeling her shoulders slumping.

"I know you are not keen on the idea of attending Hogwarts," Uncle Albus said quietly. Maia sighed heavily, gritting her teeth to prevent an outburst – she at least sounded _polite_ when she said, "I have things to do. I can't do them if I'm locked in a tower."

"You refer, I believe, to Alexander Tueri's school," Uncle Albus smiled warmly. Maia glanced at him. Of course he _would_ know! she thought irritably. Her friend Alexander wanted to open a special, enlightened school for primary-aged wizard children, focusing on an altered perspective on most aspects of Wizarding society that Maia thought backwards, and an appreciation for Muggle culture. She and Diane had been helping Alexander put together a curriculum, and Maia had been working on a project for the last eighteen months that Alexander was very keen on. And with her A-Levels under her belt, and a friendship with an eccentric five-year-old, she was in a unique position to reach absorbing young minds, to encourage them to fall in love with _learning_ as they learned about the best of both worlds. There were other things she was working on, too, things she was absolutely devoted to…but most of all, she wanted her evenings and weekends free, to enjoy the way she had for the past eighteen months – she didn't want to have to forfeit the only things that tempted her to get out of bed. "I am sure Alexander would not wish you to reject this opportunity presented to you." Maia gritted her teeth, willing herself not to get angry. It wasn't an opportunity. She saw no benefit in it for her, attending Hogwarts. Nurturing her intellectually would only go so far – how was secluding her from the parts of her life she enjoyed going to help her emotionally?

"If, next August, you decide not to return to the school, that will be entirely your decision," Uncle Albus said. And Maia knew; she had absolutely no say in the matter. She was going to Hogwarts. "However, Diane left you to my care. I cannot very well leave you here by yourself when you incur warnings from the Improper Use of Magic Office." Here, Maia had to scoff.

And she added, "I'm not by myself – Dashy's here."

"Yes," Uncle Albus nodded. "But Dashy and I are in agreement, it is not doing you any good being here. I cannot give you the time you deserve… However, your uncle has unlimited leisure-time and has recently taken possession of a very large, very empty house. Now… I shall get you all packed, and we can be going."

Maia blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Didn't Dashy mention? Perhaps she thought it best not to give you any chance to run away to Phuket or French Polynesia or any one of the numerous exotic places Septimus took you to visit," Uncle Albus said, giving her an indulgent smile. "However, I truly believe this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Meeting Sirius, the last living member of your _family_."

Again, Maia had no choice, but this time, he sugar-coated the fact with a bribe. Her _family_.

How could she put up a struggle against that?

"Sirius?" she said quietly. Though it wasn't a rare name amongst wizards, it had fallen out of fashion generations ago. Nowadays, she had only ever heard that name in connection to one wizard. She knew the reputation behind the name, too – though Diane had never put any stock in the stories. She had refused, point-blank, to believe that Sirius Black had ever betrayed his best-friend to Voldemort. It wasn't in his _character_, she used to say. And Diane always put more stock in character than _reputation_.

If this was the same Sirius who was her uncle, the reason he had had no impact on her life was because he had spent eleven years in Azkaban – and two years on the run, as the first escapee from the wizard prison _ever_.

"Yes, Sirius Black," Professor Dumbledore said, probably guessing where her thoughts were, just by her tone. She glanced at Professor Dumbledore, measuring his expression before she commented.

"Sirius Black is my uncle?"

"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore nodded. She had read that Dementors had been stationed outside Hogwarts School; that they had also been given permission to perform the Kiss on Black should he be caught. Despite all she had learned of the wider magical world, Maia loathed and feared Dementors more than anything else. What they were capable of made her stomach evaporate. Sirius Black hadn't been caught, and Diane had told her a story she had heard from Uncle Albus a few years ago, about a Hippogriff, a rat, and Harry Potter. "If Sirius had not been incarcerated, your mother's will stipulated that guardianship of you would have passed to him."

Maia blinked. She had never known that. Diane had never told her – had Maia been dropped on Diane and Septimus' doorstep simply because there had been no-one else? She pushed the unpleasant feeling she got from that thought aside, and said, "I thought he was still on the run? How can he invite me to live with him?"

"Sirius' father was paranoid about security and privacy, he placed numerous spells and charms on the house to keep unwanted visitors away," Uncle Albus said. "Therefore Sirius is protected while he remains within its confines. However, not wishing him to take unnecessary risks, I suggested I collect you, rather than he."

"Collect me?"

"Yes. Sirius has offered you houseroom with him until the start of term," Uncle Albus said, and again, Maia's anger skyrocketed. He was a test of willpower, at the very least; she would probably have a handle on her temper by the time she had sat her N.E.W.T.s if that was what he intended her to do.

"What about Dashy?" she asked forcefully.

"Dashy is more than welcome to come with you," Professor Dumbledore smiled. "In fact, I am certain I will have several tasks only she may be able to carry out, if you don't mind."

"Dashy's a free elf," Maia said, more calmly. "I'd only take issue if she was forced to do something she's anxious about." Maia had been a baby when Dashy had been trying to find work, dismissed by her shitty pureblood family: both being ancient when Maia's mother had been a baby, Septimus and Diane had seen the prudence in taking on a house-elf to help raise Maia, more of a nanny than a housekeeper like the other elves under their employ, and over time Dashy had helped take care of Diane herself. Dashy was part of their tiny family, and Maia disliked the attitude of many wizards who treated her or the other house-elves poorly when they saw the elves wore clothes. It had taken a long time, but Dashy and the others – Thistletack, Wipple, Snodgrass and Flox – kept their wardrobes pristine, and now wore their clothes with pride. Dashy lived in the Hobbit-hole with Maia and Diane; the others lived in the Big House and tended the abandoned village on her family's expansive, magically-concealed estate. They were more than capable of caring for themselves but Maia didn't like the idea of leaving Dashy, who had been so attached to Diane, left alone.

Uncle Albus' eyes twinkled. Maia's aunt was gone – how on earth had Sirius Black handled eleven years in Azkaban, his best-friends murdered? And alone, on the run, for the last two years? The story Diane had told her… She couldn't imagine how he was handling things. How _lonely_ he must be.

"Excellent," he said, nodding. "Well, as that is all settled – perhaps I could speed up the process and – _Pack!_" he commanded, giving his wand a little flick, and Maia jumped out of her seat, feeling dizzy – the entire Hobbit-hole had started packing itself up. Trinkets, furniture, the multitude of books Maia and her great-aunt had been collecting, the pianoforte, Diane's delicate writing-desk, everything. Seeing Diane's study clearing itself away gave Maia an odd, nauseous feeling she didn't like, and quickly turned away, feeling shivery and lightheaded, the way she did whenever William's mother had been watching _24 Hours in A&amp;E_.

The larger pieces of furniture – sideboards, tables, the sinuous, inbuilt shelving, mirrors and cubbies around fireplaces, tucked into nooks and crannies – all remained in place, draped with white dustsheets, but without Diane's clutter, the Hobbit-hole somehow seemed bigger. And the panelled warren under the hill had always been so cosy…when she had reached 5'10" at fourteen, her home had suddenly seemed very small.

She glanced around – suddenly, her stomach was in her throat, anxious about her new baby goats – Grieg, Hasufel and Sumo – and the fluffy Bantam chickens, Golly, Posh, Ida, Monica Joan and Pookie – as well as the rescued hippogriffs tended and bred by Flox.

"I wouldn't worry about the animals," Uncle Albus said. "I shall leave the gardens as they are, I am certain they shall come of use, all those wonderful vegetables. If there is anything you wish to keep close to hand from your bedchamber, I would go and grab it now." Disconcerted, feeling slightly nauseous, Maia sped down the warren-like corridor to her own bedroom. It was a very small room, with just a single bed, an old dresser, and what looked like a battered old trunk. When Maia had been old enough and her interests had caused the room to become too cramped, Maia had utilised magic to create her own retreat. She picked up the small box-clutch on the dresser, withdrew her wand and twisted it, the trunk removing itself into the clutch. Maia had long ago Extended the clutch with undetectable charms, for ease when she and Diane wandered foreign markets, especially if Diane had Maia carrying everything.

Whenever she and Diane travelled, they packed lightly; and they usually returned with far too much – trinkets, books, ceramics, plants, furniture, a lot of recipes and memories. The books they hadn't acquired on their travels had mostly come from the "Big House", their family's ancestral home, but Maia and Diane had always lived in the Hobbit-hole – for Diane, the Big House was too full of memories of people long lost. She stopped in front of the mirror over the fireplace and winced. But Uncle Albus was waiting, and there was little to be done – hastily, she withdrew a little pot of red lip-lacquer and a brush and carefully applied a coat of lipstick. It was astonishing what a little red lipstick could do. And she was meeting her uncle for the first time, after all; she could have asked for some time to shower and do her hair, put on something nice, but as it was, she just sprayed her hair with a Muggle canister of cherry-scented dry shampoo and tousled it into a messy knot on top of her head, straightening her t-shirt on her shoulders and dusting the worst of the earth from the vegetable-garden off her shorts. Maia noticed, as she walked through the corridors of the Hobbit-hole, it didn't feel like her home, with everything packed away. It felt different to seeing Diane's much-beloved writing desk de-cluttering itself, when she had felt nauseous, almost lurching out of her chair to pin everything in place the way Diane had left it.

Seeing the Hobbit-hole so sparse, so clean and organised, the furniture draped in dustsheets, Maia felt…an overwhelming sense of relief. And that made her eyes burn. But it was better than the feeling that had overwhelmed her seeing Diane's things being altered.

Dashy had been having a quiet word with Professor Dumbledore, and she was nodding sombrely when Maia returned to the parlour. Together, Professor Dumbledore and Dashy set up some very complicated protective enchantments on the property, including the meadows and woods, the fields and little rivers, the Big House and the famous gardens, the abandoned village, but Professor Dumbledore assured her Maia could return whenever she liked. Professor Dumbledore offered her and Dashy his arms. Knowing he intended to Apparate with them, Maia tucked her sunglasses down over her eyes, tentatively latching onto his proffered wrist. If she had to choose, Maia would have taken travel by broomstick; Septimus had always spoiled her with his flying carriage, but since his death, she and Diane had had to rely on Dashy's peculiar, strong magic.

"Ready? Ah, excellent," Uncle Albus smiled sanguinely. "Dashy has gone on ahead; I know you find Apparition distasteful, but we must be cautious about the Floo Network, Grimmauld Place being so heavily protected magically." Without even an attempt to smile, Maia gripped Uncle Albus' forearm, and winced as with a _crack_, they Disapparated.

* * *

**A.N.**: I had to start rewriting it. I know, kill me! But you may like the alterations – more George, earlier on! So you won't have to wait forty-odd chapters for a little Maiorge-time.


	2. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

**A.N.**: Every time I look at a HP story, I see Sirius portrayed by a different actor – I used to think Tom Wisdom, i.e. Midnight Mark, from _The Boat That Rocked_, "the sexiest man on the planet". But I watched _Alexander_ last night, and the actor who played Cleitus was hot. And he's got the darker, more world-weary look to him I imagine Sirius carried around.

* * *

**The Eldest of the Pleiades**

_02_

_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_

* * *

Feeling light-headed and like she'd been pushed through a tube, Maia grimaced and let out a gasp of relief, glad she had donned her sunglasses as grimy glass reflected the early-evening sunlight into a forlorn-looking square. Her hissing cat Simba draped over her arm, Maia frowned, glancing around. They had appeared in the middle of a small park of grass trimmed with older, rather gnarled trees and parched flowerbeds. On all sides, Maia could see Georgian townhouses, but time had worn them down. She was certain some elbow grease and fresh paint would have returned some of their former grandeur, but most likely these houses had been turned into low-rent flats that nobody particularly cared too much for.

Uncle Albus swept purposely toward one edge of the square, stopping before the gate between houses number eleven and thirteen. Maia followed, and frowned when she had come up beside the professor, his dress so out of place. Maia followed his gaze, wondering where house number twelve was: no sooner had she wondered than a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by grubby black-trimmed windows. It was as though an extra house was inflating between numbers eleven and thirteen, without anybody noticing, pushing aside the ones in its way. Worn stone steps appeared before her, and Maia stared at the faded black paint on the door, where a silver doorknocker in the shape of an ouroboros was the only feature; there was no keyhole or letterbox. Uncle Albus drew his wand, tapping the door surreptitiously, before pocketing his wand again. Maia heard many loud, metallic clicks, and what sounded like the clatter of a chain; then the door creaked open.

"After you, my dear," he said politely. Maia stepped over the threshold tentatively, smelling damp, dust and a sweetish, rotting smell she usually associated with the compost-heap. Simba sneezed delicately, squirming in Maia's arms.

She had to lift her sunglasses on top of her head, unused to the meagre light after such dazzling sunshine outside, the thin panes of glass either side of the door shed dim light on a panelled hall, and the bat-like ears of Dashy, waiting in the hall, looking absolutely appalled; the panelling continued up a staircase that wound up and back, to a many-storeyed gallery reaching up toward a once-striking stained-glass dome that was now grimy. The whole foyer and galleried upper-storeys had had a very _Titanic_ feel about them, Georgian mixed with Art Nouveau and it would once have been airy, delightful, a very handsome foyer, but age and abuse had rendered the place very grim. Several doors led off the hall, and age-blackened portraits hung from the grubby panelling: everything needed a very thorough scrub, little patches of dust rising from the rug covering a floor that might be a handsome parquet under the grime. Maia was appalled – but her lips twitched, and she glanced down at Dashy – whose face was a picture. Her eyes bugging, her jaw hanging, her long fingers and her bat-like ears were quivering with shock and the unquenchable desire to start attacking everything with Mrs Scower's Magical Mess Remover. Dashy _hated _filth. Turning to tell Professor Dumbledore that on no account was Maia living _here_ for the next three months, she opened her mouth, but froze when she heard voices upstairs, getting clearer, as if whoever owned them were coming downstairs.

"No stopping me this time, Moony," said the first voice, deep and slightly hoarse. "This is it. Don't make a move Moony, not one step." She heard footsteps on the stairs above. "I will not spend one more day—yet one more _hour_ in this cleft between Satan's buttocks my mother used to call 'home'." Maia grinned to herself, amused at the description, and stepping eagerly to see who the voices belonged to; they were circling the upstairs galleries, but Maia couldn't see them yet. "I have reached the end. My finger's on the trigger, so to speak. Don't try to stop me, Moony."

"Oh, not again," a voice sighed.

"This is it. Don't try to stop me this time, Moony. Don't try to stop me this time, Moony. Don't you dare try to stop me this time, Moony, try to stop me," the tone of the first man's voice changed. Maia saw movement in the gallery directly above her; the first man sounded eccentric and irate. "Moony, get off your arse and _stop_ me! This is not a _joke_! _I'm—committing—suicide_!" A blast of red light from above made Maia jump; it ricocheted off a portrait against the wall at the top of the first landing. The first man sighed heavily. "Don't ever frighten me like that again. What have you become, some sort of a sadist?"

"I'm sorry," the second man said, his voice torn between exasperation and amusement. "How do you feel now?"

"I want to die," the first man said sombrely, after heaving a miserable sigh. "There's no adventure here."

"You call trying to curse yourself to smithereens no adventure?" a third voice chuckled.

"Death is the only adventure I have left, Bill," the first voice said despondently. "I'm the reason my godson is orphaned; I've lost fourteen years of my life; I'm grounded in my mother's house; Moony, you're going off gallivanting with your terrifyingly nasty brethren having fun and _Kreacher_–is–_still_–_alive_!"

"Oh, come on," the second voice said, trying to inflict some enthusiasm into his voice, though he sounded at the end of his patience. "We can play with your trains."

"Mother probably threw them out after I was naughty," the first man said petulantly. Maia heard footsteps again.

"Professor Dumbledore might be bringing Maia today," the second man said coaxingly.

"She won't come here. _Nobody_ comes here, not unless they _have_ to." Maia caught glimpses of patched and neatly-darned robes coming down the next flight of steps. "Anyway, why would I want her to come and live in this shithole?"

"You didn't mind me renting a room off you," the third voice, Bill, said amusedly.

"_You_ are a Curse-Breaker, dear William; you get your jollies manoeuvring yourself out of marrow-melting situations; _you_ can fight off a Lethifold attack," the first voice said. "I don't know what Maia's skill-level with magic is; and she shouldn't have to live in a place that needs decontaminating by the entire Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

"Well, just in case _she_ does arrive at some point, you may wish to, I don't know, comb your hair or hide the large stash of Muggle pornography you found in your old bedroom," said the second, tired voice.

"Oh yeah!" the first man exclaimed brightly.

A very handsome man in dragon-hide boots, with a long ponytail, stepped down the stairs, his face alight with humour as he chuckled, and Maia's spirits improved dramatically. She _knew_ him! With his dragon-fang earring and lots of freckles, he was instantly recognisable; when they had met, they had been exploring abandoned wizard establishments left to fester, full of Dark curses and stomach-melting artefacts. The situation felt eerily familiar, in the most wonderful way! Behind him, a slightly older man followed, righting the portrait; his robes were old, threadbare in places but clearly looked after. He was younger than Maia thought on first glance, his hair threaded with grey. He was pleasant-looking, and had a careful, scholarly air about him. The redhead man glanced into the hall and did a double-take, his expression animated when he saw Maia. Striding down the stairs, he enveloped Maia in a hug.

"Hello, Bill," she said warmly. He was even more of a dish than he had been when she had met him in Giza. A year ago she had spent her half-term holiday in Egypt, exploring the pyramids and the Valley of the Gates of the Kings. She could have spent years there. Bill had been the dishy English curse-breaker they had been put in contact with by one of Diane's friends, and he had gone out of his way to show Maia around, especially the exceptional wizard markets, and had taught her a few phrases of the local dialect. He had even put them in contact with his brother, Charlie, whom they had met in Romania on a later holiday, when Diane had been catching up with a famous and very ancient dragon-keeper she had written a biography of. He was like the wizard equivalent of David Attenborough when it came to magical creatures, and, especially, _dragons_. He was enjoying his retirement in a dragon sanctuary. Maia remembered Bill, with his earring and ponytail, and everything he had told her about his siblings still at Hogwarts. She remembered how shamelessly Diane had flirted with him, had claimed him as her "toy-boy".

There were few women, Bill had told Maia, whom he would allow to pinch his bottom in a booby-trapped Egyptian tomb, without retaliating. Diane had been one of them. Even if she had tried to blame it on Maia. Well – that last time _had _been Maia, how could she resist? She had idolised Bill as a sort of wizard Indiana Jones figure. Only more handsome. He gave gingers a good name. She had enjoyed playing chess with Bill. He was _very _clever. But just because she had thought he was handsome, though, didn't mean Maia hadn't slaughtered him mercilessly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked curiously, giving him a breathless smile. "I thought you were still being sexy in Heracleion!"

"I came home about a week ago," Bill smiled. "Mum and I went and cheered Harry on at the Triwizard Tournament."

"_You_ got to see the Tournament?" Maia breathed. It hadn't occurred in so long, this first attempt at Hogwarts was exceptional. She shot Uncle Albus a dark look; he'd declined to let Maia and Diane come and watch, or attend the Yule Ball, though one of Maia's foreign pen-friends had been attending as a potential candidate for the Durmstrang champion, and had wanted to invite her.

"Only the Third Task, but that was…memorable," Bill said, ending with a heavy sigh. He gave her a funny smile. "I'd never have guessed it'd be _you_, the Maia who's his niece."

"Whose? Oh. Sirius Black's," Maia nodded. She gave a little sigh, shrugging her shoulders; she didn't really know what to do with herself. Glancing around the grimy hall, she winced, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. But _Bill_ was here…renting a room. Why on earth would he want to rent a room _here_ to live? "When are you going back to Egypt?"

"I'm not," Bill smiled. "I took a desk-job transfer, so I'm home! I've taken a room here, to help Sirius decontaminate the place."

"I suppose it's ideal," Maia said, crinkling her nose as she glanced around again, "you being a Curse-Breaker."

"My thoughts exactly," Bill smiled. "Although I sat on my bed upstairs and something _moved_ under my bottom – I ran like mad! I think I'm out of practice with _English_ household infestations." He chuckled, then his breath caught, and he smiled, reaching to scratch Simba's ears. "What a _beautiful_ cat!"

"She is stunning," Maia basked, watching Simba tentatively lick Bill's fingers.

"You can tell why the Egyptians worshipped cats, when you see a specimen like this," Bill smiled warmly. Simba was incredibly elegant, very sphinx-like, with long toes, head and a slender, agile body. "What's her name?"

"Simba," Maia said softly.

"Sirius," the greying young-man said quietly, trying to catch someone's attention, and Maia glanced around to see him catch the hem of a set of robes. A dark-haired man stumbled backwards, crashed into the wall (upsetting the portrait again) and tumbled with a choked yell to the other man's feet. Bill quickly shot a spell at a pair of moth-eaten curtains when they started to ripple ominously.

"_Ow_! I escape Azkaban, spend two years on the run, survive an attempted suicide and now you're trying to strangle me?!" the dark-haired man fumed, righting his robes and sweeping that sheet of hair out of his face. The other man frowned and nodded pointedly in Maia's direction. The first glanced around, eyebrows raised curiously. "Oh. Fantastic way to make a first impression, Moony; try and murder someone right in front of her!" The dark-haired man stared inscrutably at Maia.

"Good evening, Remus, Sirius, William," Professor Dumbledore said courteously, now finished locking the front-door.

"Professor Dumbledore," 'Moony' said politely, nodding. She knew Bill; and presumably the dark-haired man was Sirius Black – she vaguely recognised his profile from the Wanted posters a few years ago – then this 'Moony' was also known as Remus. He gave Maia a very warm smile, "And you must be Maia."

"Hi," Maia said quietly, waving awkwardly.

"Too late to comb my hair?"

"You'll have to forgive Sirius," Remus/Moony said. "He wasn't caught young enough to tame." Maia smiled, and Remus/Moony, winking subtly at the Sirius Black's incredulous gape. He asked Professor Dumbledore, "Did you have any trouble?"

"No, everything was fine," Professor Dumbledore smiled sanguinely. "Maia—this is Remus Lupin."

"What did you want to bring her _here_ for?" Sirius Black said suddenly, frowning darkly, and Maia quickly glanced at Uncle Albus, frowning.

"Passive-aggressive punishment," Maia said dully. "I received a warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office."

"And you thought bringing her _here_ would help set her straight?" Sirius asked. He sniffed, smirking. "_Glorious_ mistake." His friend rolled his eyes slightly, but Maia's felt the tension around her mouth ease as Sirius slipped her a subtle wink.

"It is _lovely_ to meet you, Maia," Mr Lupin said, his eyes glowing. "Professor Dumbledore has told us about you. Please, call me Remus. It seems you already know Bill." Maia nodded, beaming at her friend. "And this is Sirius. Your uncle, apparently." Maia nodded, not knowing what else to say. But the long-haired man shot her a quick, wolfish, very mischievous grin.

"Did you ever have a nickname?" he asked, scrutinising her.

"When I was little, my godfather used to call me Maisie," Maia said, shrugging slightly, and Sirius raised an eyebrow curiously. Uncle Septimus used to tell her stories, about a young-man who absolutely adored doting on her. Curiosity written on his features, Sirius stalked closer, cradling her face with surprising gentleness. His fingers were elegant, long and clever. Like her own. As he took in every detail of her face, she observed him in kind, taking in their similarities, something she had never had the luxury of doing with her aunt, for all her mesmerising ancientness.

His appearance had altered drastically since the Wanted posters, but he was still undernourished and still shirking the effects of Azkaban: something flipped in her stomach as she observed they had the same shape of nose, neat and almost aristocratic, though the bridge of hers was dusted with the tiniest freckles; the rest of her complexion was clear, and her hair was a lighter shade of treacle, streaked liberally with natural highlights of gold and copper from the sunshine, and naturally curly. They even had the same extraordinary cheekbones, though Sirius looked more corpselike – he needed a few good, large meals and a few healthy doses of Rejuvenation Draft. She took after her father's side, then: Her favourite photograph of her mother showed Maia she had very little in common with her mother's features.

She didn't know what it was, but something about the house made the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickle, a contrast to the impression she got from Sirius.

"Well, at least you inherited _my_ looks. Regulus wasn't as handsome," Sirius exclaimed, with a sigh, shaking his head. A smile quirked at the corners of his lips. His gaze lingered on her eyes for a moment. She knew her mother's had been a vivid blue; and Sirius' were a mesmerising silvery-grey. She didn't have her mother's eyes, and she wondered if her father had had pale eyes like Sirius. "Maia. What a wonderful surprise." His lips twitched in a smile, and Maia couldn't help but smile back shyly.

"Um… This is Dashy," Maia said, indicating the elf waiting quietly at her knee. Dashy gave a polite curtsy, and Sirius' eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly, probably surprised at the sight of a house-elf wearing a neat shift dress and cardigan. "Dashy…has been taking care of my family for fourteen years."

"Well, you're most welcome here, Dashy," Remus said, smiling warmly. "We'll have a cup of tea in a moment. Professor, are you staying after the meeting?"

"I'm afraid not," Uncle Albus said. "I should like a word with Master Weasley, and with yourself, Remus, if you don't mind. Maia, you will be needing…these." He twiddled his wand, and several trunks appeared out of nowhere, resting neatly on the grubby rug. A cry emitted softly from under their feet, and Uncle Albus' lips twitched, "I believe Molly will just have been surprised by the contents of your larder."

He moved to a double-doorway; Maia glimpsed bookcases filled with age-blackened, moulded tomes, and he smiled, his eyes twinkling, before nodding politely at Maia. Bill closing the door after Remus, Sirius's features settled into an expression of remarkable disgruntlement, and he scowled at the peeling paint on the door.

Maia glanced around when a door hidden in the panelling of the hall opened, revealing a staircase down into the basement, and a short, plump lady with hair as vivid a red as Bill's appeared. Her expression was kindly, but bewildered. She frowned at Sirius, her lips parted in confusion, but when she glanced at Maia, her expression shifted. She smiled, a motherly expression warming her features. "So you're here!" she beamed, walking over to Maia with her arms outspread. She clutched the much-taller Maia in a crushing embrace that made Maia wince with discomfort. When she let Maia go, she noticed the woman's eyes were rimmed with red, bloodshot, and she looked tired, almost wan.

"Maia, this is Bill's mother, Molly Weasley," Sirius said.

"And _you_ answer the question of where all that food came from," Mrs Weasley smiled warmly.

"Food?" Sirius asked. When the moth-eaten curtains on the wall rippled as if agitated, Mrs Weasley shot them a nasty look, and gestured them to the hidden staircase. Maia glanced over her shoulder as she stood in the stairway, following Sirius; the hall was a large foyer, with a very handsome staircase and several doors leading off it. It would have been handsome and inviting, if it wasn't so filthy.

"I apologise for the state of the house," Sirius said, glancing over his shoulder at her, as if he could sense her disdain. "No-one but my family's old house-elf has lived here since my mother died a decade ago."

At this, Dashy's ears straightened, looking aghast. "There is another house-elf? _Here_?"

"Yes," Sirius said gloomily. "He's gone into hiding, though; don't expect to see him around. I apologise in advance if he creeps up on you. He got Moony two nights ago, woke him in the dead of night…"

Down the stairs, and they entered a neat network of larders and butler's pantries full of silverware, glass-fronted built-in cabinets containing crockery and years' worth of cobwebs. The main room was large, and thankfully scrubbed to a standard of cleanliness Dashy would appreciate: there was a large half-moon window over the enormous white porcelain sink, sending blistering sunlight across the scrubbed floor. An enormous range dominated one end, and copper pots and baking-pans hung from the walls, shining dully.

Several colourful characters sat at benches and mismatched carved chairs around a huge oak table, now groaning under the weight of what looked like the entire contents of Maia's home-larders. A horrifically-scarred man in a heavy trench-coat looked as if he had just leapt out of his chair, tension radiating from him; from the absurd electric-blue false eye, Maia assumed this was Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, of whom Diane had always spoken with deep respect. He looked ready to curse someone.

"Put your wand away, Alastor," Mrs Weasley admonished, with a slightly impatient sigh. "Albus sent the food over with Maia." There was a very dark-skinned man dressed in long robes, bald and wearing a single flashing gold hoop earring, relaxing in a cushioned chair, looking tired; and a young woman with curly, waist-length metallic turquoise hair braided over her crown had been chattering away happily as she picked over the bushel of cherries Maia had harvested only last evening from the orchard. A sodden dishcloth was clearing up a mess from a spilt Butterbeer bottle in the middle of the table, and Maia rolled her eyes, grinning.

"Aren't there any sippy-cups for you to use, _Nymphadora_?" she asked, and Tonks whirled around, even as she squawked, "_Don't_ call me Nymphadora – it's _T – _Maia?!" Maia grinned, her tongue between her teeth, and chortled as Tonks bounded forward, grabbing Maia in a hug. "What on earth are you doing _here_?"

"House-arrest. You?"

"Joined the Order of the Phoenix, didn't I?" Tonks grinned.

"They're going after the _nubile_ ones first, are they?" Maia asked lightly, and Tonks smirked, leaning her hip against the table – and dislodging Maia's own mason-cash bowl full of rising dough – with a careless flick of her wand, Maia righted it, and shot Tonks an exasperated look.

"So…you're Sirius' niece, then?" Tonks frowned, her expression musing as she glanced between Maia and Sirius, who was munching on a juicy plum.

"I've been told so," Maia said, glancing at her would-be uncle too. His robes were fine but old, and definitely not tailored to him, and his long hair was in serious need of trimming.

"Well, so that means we're family," Tonks said brightly, and Maia started in surprise, turning to stare at her. She had known Tonks for a couple of years – Tonks had caught Maia as underage in the _Brass Jabberknoll_ ages ago, having snuck into the club to watch a _Frabjous Chizpurfles_ gig – she'd been fourteen with sharp elbows and too much hair but an impeccable application of eyeliner; Tonks had tripped over her, and not only vouched for Maia's presence at the club but introduced her to Tonks' old friend Ailith Monaghan, Entertainment correspondent for the _Daily_ _Prophet_, with whom Maia was now very good friends. Maia had a lot of fun with Tonks and Ailith; during Tonk's final examinations at the Auror Academy, Maia had run study-sessions for her, sort of _Gilmore Girls_ meets Gandalf-in-the-Gondor-archives, Tonks hyperactive and jittery and her hair changing colour of its own accord in her bewildered state of sleepless hysteria as she had paced. In the end, they'd had to slip her a Sleeping Draught so she would actually rest. Elsa had rather unhelpfully remarked that as a trainee-Auror, Tonks should have known better than to blindly accept a drink offered her. Especially when it was from Maia.

"_What_?" she frowned, taken aback.

"Yeah. My mum's Sirius' favourite cousin," Tonks grinned, popping a cherry into her mouth whole – she promptly started choking on the stone.

"_Anapneo_," Maia sighed, rolling her eyes, and Tonks eyes watered as she gasped, her airway clear. "How on _earth_ did you manage to pass Stealth and Concealment? I'll never understand it."

"I thought you were the one who Confunded the examining Auror?" Tonks blinked, and Maia cracked a smile. Tonks, with her vivid metallic-turquoise hair curling to her waist today, could always make her smile. "Well, I know I've told you before, but I doubt I'd have done so well in the exams without your obstacle-course." Maia chuckled sadly. Diane had helped her plan out the obstacle-course she had designed to give Tonks some preparation before her practical exams. "So, did you clean out the Hobbit-hole or what?"

"Uncle Albus did." Tonks glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, at Maia's tone: it had been deadened and accusatory, and Maia clenched her jaw, the memory of her home packing itself away – all of Diane's things, exactly as she had left them…_moved_. She would never get them back to their proper places – he had _done_ that. Ripped everything away – torn away the plaster without mercy. Without even asking.

"You look terrible," Tonks pointed out lightly, her dark eyes sombre as she scrutinised Maia's appearance.

"Thank you. I haven't washed my hair in a while. I wore this t-shirt yesterday too. But I'll tell you a secret – as soon as you put on red lipstick, no-one gives a toss," Maia said conspiratorially, and Tonks snorted.

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't waste these," Tonks smiled, leaning in to sniff at the numerous familiar vases containing flowers Maia had collected on her walks – vibrant sunflowers, vivid snapdragons, ranunculus and peonies were her favourites. Diane had always had flowers in a little posy on her writing-desk: the _Orchideous _charm had been one of the first Septimus had taught her.

The shelves in the larders were stuffed with the fruits of her labours – with everything from handmade artisan loaves Maia had shaped herself, to purple bell-peppers, mismatched tins, pots and jars containing sugars, spices, fresh yeast, malt and black treacle, to hand-crafted goats cheese covered in a coating of ash; jars of finest quality chocolate, nuts and slender liqueur bottles lined the shelves with homemade jam made from the orchards' yields every year, and bundles of herbs and chillies dried from the ceiling, elderflowers waiting to be turned into cordial, terracotta pots on the sideboard containing her not-inconsiderable herb garden. There were tonnes of plums to turn into brandy and jam, trugs overflowing with tomatoes of every colour and frilly lettuces, while a brightly-painted ceramic dish was piled high with fresh eggs.

"Well, you know how to stock a larder, at any rate," Mrs Weasley sighed, hands on her hips as she eyed the masses of food. She picked up a particular baking-tray. "Do you do much baking, Maia?"

"Lots," Maia nodded. Diane had insisted Maia learn pâtisserie, and Tonks had eaten the fruits of Maia's kitchen labours. And caused a few mishaps in the kitchen, truth be told. "I've learned not to mix potion-making with pâtisserie. Especially when I've had a bout of insomnia. Luckily, my friend Elsa's sister managed to receive medical treatment… Apparently the Hogwarts Healer is very good." She grimaced, not-very-guiltily, but she caught Sirius' eye with an impish grin. "Alright, so actually, jinxing that cake was the _intention_…"

Sirius laughed richly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked less skeletal when he smiled; although, he had improved staggeringly since those Wanted posters two years ago. There was more meat on his bones, he looked _alive_. He asked Maia what jinx she had used, and his laughter barked out again. Sitting down at the table, he frowned and grimaced at his wet sleeve. He gave the sodden table-top a frown and glanced Tonks with a roll of his eyes, drawing out a wand to siphon the mess from the worktop.

"That's not your wand," Maia observed quietly, sinking into a chair too. Sirius glanced up at her.

"No… No, no it isn't," he sighed, twirling the long, slender wand between his clever fingers. He eyed her carefully. "You know your way around your wand."

"Maia's brilliant," Tonks spoke up, grinning.

"Do you two know each other?" Sirius asked.

"I caught this one sneaking into a club in Diagon Alley a few years ago," Tonks grinned.

"Caught me? You tripped over Ailith and sent us both flying!" Maia said indignantly, realising her voice sounded throaty and unlike herself. She cleared her throat and sighed softly, aware with an internal grimace that she was without makeup, tear-stained and she was slouching.

"Well, sometimes the best things happen by accident," Tonks sniffed, and Maia rolled her eyes, smiling softly.

"Like _me_," she smirked. Given the fact she had been born two months after her mother had left Hogwarts, Maia had no illusions that she had been anything but a _surprise_ for her family.

"Why did you sneak into a club?" Sirius asked, a smile lingering on his lips.

"The _Frabjous Chizpurfles_ were playing."

"I've not heard them."

"No, nobody has," Maia sighed. "The wizard rock-n'-roll scene is non-existent, outside the musical underworld." She eyed Sirius. "They play less than fifteen minutes of rock-music on the _Wizarding Wireless Network_ every day."

"Still?" Sirius frowned. "That was the same when I was your age – all Celestina Warbeck and _Weird Sisters_."

"Yep, it's exactly the same," Maia grumbled.

"One would hope it had improved in recent years," a familiar voice said, and Maia sat up straighter, lighting up; _Ailith_! "After all, I spend all my spare time managing bands and promoting music that's never heard."

"The people who matter hear it, Ailith," Maia reminded her, smiling sadly. She reached around, almost awkwardly, to accept the hug Ailith leaned down to bestow on her. She was awash in the scent of Ailith's floral perfume – a decadent bomb of scent exploding, calling on Maia's senses, even if she had not _seen_ Ailith, she would always associate the _Viktor &amp; Rolf_ perfume with her.

Ailith had _built_ the underground Wizard music scene over the past decade. She was highly connected and just about the biggest toff Maia had ever met, but she was this serene presence that didn't seem to fit her lust for rock and punk music. There was something very Bacall in her, in her balmy caramel-brunette hair groomed and piled into a ballerina bun, loose locks curling at her nape, an antique watch wresting on a slender wrist, a ring on her pinkie, usually fiddling with a cigarette she never lit. She greeted Maia with a warm hug, searching her face intently, her expression saddened; Diane had put Ailith in contact with her publisher, for a book Ailith was working on, and Ailith had had a habit of dropping by the Hobbit-hole for a glass of chilled Spanish sherry, listening to a new record Ailith had had a hand in producing while Maia commented on ideas for the record sleeve artwork.

Simba, who never really liked anyone but Maia, purred and leapt into Ailith's lap; Ailith gave her a vigorous pet, cuddling and spoiling her, and the bespoke ring on Ailith's finger and her elegant antique watch caught the light, drawing attention. Her jewellery collection was famous – she had inherited all her female relatives' jewels, as the only girl. As she sat stroking Maia's cat, talking to Tonks and Sirius, whose eyes never strayed from her face, she drew Maia, eating a plum, into a conversation about friends in the hard-done-by wizard entertainment and fashion industries they were mutual friends with. She half-listened to Tonks chatting with Bill about his brother Charlie, who "wrestles dragons in Romania; he has arms the size of _basilisks_, it's ridiculous! We were in the same year at Hogwarts, but he was in Gryffindor, of course—all the Weasleys have been! We had Potions together, though, that was brill – although, Snape learned I'm a danger to myself the hard way."

"I'm sure you were an absolute delight," Sirius said, his expression so deadpan, Maia's lips twitched.

"That's not _quite_ the wording he used in the end-of-year reports he sent to Mum and Dad," Tonks sighed. "Maia – d'you know Kingsley? Kingsley Shacklebolt? He's higher-up than me at the Auror Office. Kingsley, this is the girl I've told you about before, the nutter who had me running obstacle courses to train."

"I could report you for abusing your position, after that situation with the whistle," Maia sniffed, and Tonks gave her an appalled look, as the dark-skinned man with the gold earring gave her a slow, settling smile.

"I think we'd best take that story to our graves – Mad-Eye! You do know that's disgusting, don't you?" Tonks asked conversationally, as the grizzled, battle-scarred Auror plucked the insane magical eye from his own skull and plopped it into a glass of water, where it started whizzing about manically.

"Hasn't worked right ever since that scum wore it," Mad-Eye Moody growled. Maia had grown up hearing stories about him – from Diane, Septimus, from _Elsa_, even. Everyone knew Mad-Eye Moody; the only time Maia had regretted not attending Hogwarts was when she had learned Mad-Eye had come out of retirement to teach there.

Of course, she had since learned that a Death Eater had gotten the drop on him and masqueraded as the paranoid Auror for nine months, before Harry Potter had helped unmask him. That story wasn't as well-known as most of Mad-Eye's captures. He had filled half of Azkaban himself. He had finally caught up with Antonin Dolohov, who had killed Maia's mother.

Maia knew Mad-Eye never drank except what he had procured himself; even now, with the feast of possibilities lining the shelves, he drank from a hipflask. Sirius, on the other hand, had found a plate and piled it high with fresh scones, fruit, a gammon and piccalilli sandwich with frilly lettuce and purple tomato, and was licking his lips after tasting Maia's home-pressed cider. As a child, Diane had never been agile enough to chase Maia over the meadows – Uncle Septimus liked nothing better, but he and Diane had both agreed that _Idle hands are the devil's workshop_, and Maia was never allowed to be without a task: She had learned to knit, paint, sew beautifully, tend the goats, cure honey and cook. Most of all, Diane had been adamant Maia know how to _bake_. And, when Septimus had coaxed her to start experimenting with magic, this had led to some hilarious results.

"I should have pretended to be a loveable stray near _your_ house," Sirius remarked, eyeing the exquisite honey jar on the table. Made of silver-plated bronze and glass, the design was made to look like a honeycomb when filled with honey, the dipper a queen bee. Maia harvest honey from the bees she tended in her cherry-orchard, she _loved_ honey, tried to use it in her baking instead of sugar as often as she could.

"What's this?" Sirius asked, indicating a quadruple-tier enamel tiffin carrier.

"It's full of cakes," Maia said quietly. "Biscuits, too. I haven't been able to sleep." Ailith eyed them warily. Maia rolled her eyes, tucking her hands into her pockets. "No, they're not jinxed." Sirius chuckled, opening the tiffin carrier, revealing homemade biscuits, fresh doughnuts, cakes and the last of the _entremets_ she had made at four a.m., a confectioner's dream of sponge, mousse, praline and jam in the shape of a cherry. Treating Diane to unique, creative and flavourful desserts had given Maia a lot of joy. Sirius glanced at her, then sighed, giving her a rueful smile.

"You won't be the only teenager here, I promise," he said softly, indicating Mrs Weasley with a nod of his head. "Molly wants her children to stay here, though I have to admit as a punishment it's a bit much…"

"I don't know why you're being so careful," Tonks said to Sirius, giving him a thoughtful look. "You must be bouncing off the walls, confined in here. Anyway, Kingsley's in charge of the manhunt for Sirius," she added, glancing at Maia, who glanced at Mr Shacklebolt, her eyebrows raised. He gave her a smiling wink.

"Maia…you couldn't pour us a brew, could you?" he asked wearily.

"Busy day?" Sirius asked, somewhat restlessly, eyeing Dashy as she set about the kitchen in a flurry of activity, magic helping her set out a platter of mature cheese, cured meats, fresh fruit and bread, the kettle singing, leaves adding themselves to the teapot.

"Raids," Kingsley said, rubbing his face tiredly and yawning.

"And I had to get Dung out of a tight spot," Tonks remarked idly, rolling her eyes with a subtle hint at impatience.

"Mad-Eye?" Mr Shacklebolt offered, gesturing to the tea Dashy was now pouring into fine bone-china cups. The grizzled older man shook his shaggy grey hair, taking a hipflask out of one of his deep pockets, and took a deep draw from it, his magical eye now pivoting around the room.

"Well, if you're going to be staying here, Maia, count me in for Sunday lunch," Tonks smiled.

"Won't your parents miss you?" Maia smiled sadly: she had been invited to the Tonks' for Sunday lunch a few times, she liked teasing Tonks' mum as she and Ted watched _Doctor Who_ – a childhood obsession that had transcended Muggle-born Ted's integration into wizarding society over forty years ago.

"How about we alternate?" Tonks said. "Mum'll never _believe_ we're related. Though come to think of it, you don't half look like her, when you're not doing funny things with your hair."

"Pot, kettle, Nymphie," Maia said, giving Tonks' turquoise curls a pointed look. She shrugged her shoulder, dislodging them.

"I wish you'd teach me how to cook," she sighed.

"That beef Wellington you make is amazing!" Maia said, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, yeah, Dad taught me how to make that – he's the only one who trusts me in the kitchen," Tonks yawned, and Maia scoffed softly. "Mum always thought I was more of a danger to myself. It was only the _once_ I almost hacked off a finger peeling potatoes – and only because she made me do it the Muggle way."

"Don't you live alone?" Sirius asked curiously, glancing at Tonks. "How do you _feed_ yourself?"

"Well, I do exaggerate a bit. The fixation with _rat_atouilledidn't pass through the family; I'm not half-bad with soup, and a full roast with beef Wellington like Maia said," Tonks smiled, licking jam from her finger. "And Dad likes me to come over for tea every week. Gives him an excuse to ask for pudding; Mum's tried to put him on a diet."

"Does Drum still make those mince-pies with the Viennese whirl top?" Sirius asked eagerly.

"Yeah, she does! How'd you know about them? I used to have to hide my stash at Christmastime, or my dorm-mates would nick 'em!" Tonks grinned.

"She always used to send a boxful of them to me around the holidays," Sirius said, smiling sadly. "She and your dad had me over once, when I was about sixteen. She made steamed jam-sponge pudding with homemade custard. _Mmm_… You were just a cute little ankle-biter clutching a little plush ducky, rocking an orange mohawk." Tonks laughed, lowering her teacup.

"I've seen the picture," she smirked.

"Your mum still had my picture out?" Sirius frowned disbelievingly.

"Nah. Found it up in the attic with a bunch of old stuff when I was getting ready to move out," Tonks said. She eyed Sirius thoughtfully. "When I told her, Mum got the pictures out again, though. She was really upset. Angry at herself, for ever believing it…" Apparently, Sirius had always loved Andromeda as his "_favourite_ cousin," he said, grinning, as he topped off Mrs Weasley's teacup.

"She made family gatherings bearable, at least 'til she ran off with Ted. Never saw her, until I ran away."

"You ran away?" Maia asked curiously. "Why?"

"I _hated_ it here," Sirius said, looking around the kitchen dispassionately. "I hated everything this house stood for."

"Then why come back, if you hate it so much?" Maia asked curiously.

"It's ideal for Headquarters," Sirius sighed miserably. "My father – your grandfather – put every kind of Muggle-repelling and protection enchantment on the property he could."

"Were you in the Order during the War?" Maia asked, and Sirius nodded.

"I was one of the few who came out the other end," he sighed heavily. "Remus, too. Although he's worn the time better, I think. Kingsley wasn't part of the Order last time – Tonks is too young… I don't know what Dumbledore's told you…"

"Well, he hasn't told _me_ anything personally," Maia said, "but he told…told my aunt a few things. I've heard whispers, what happened at the Third Task. I'm surprised we haven't heard anything from Rita Skeeter, this would've been the mother-lode."

"There's been no word from her since before the Third Task," Ailith spoke up, glancing at Maia. "Nothing, not a word. Barnabas is anxious something's happened to her."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Maia said, unconcernedly, "She's upset too many people. I don't know how Barnabas Cuffe can stand to have _her_ be printed above the fold every day, she brings down the entire tone of the _Prophet_. I only read it for your sake." Ailith shot her a warm smile.

"So…you attended a Muggle school, but you know all about current-events in the Wizarding world?" Sirius said curiously, and Maia nodded.

"Of course. Although I probably care more about Middle Eastern wizard politics than I do about British," she said, shrugging delicately. "And American and French wizard celebrities. And about the reforms in Croatia, and the overhaul of the Thai government, and their quibbles with Japan, but I was at the World Cup."

"Dad got us tickets," Tonks grinned, "but we weren't in the same campsite as the Death Eaters – I _wish_ Crouch hadn't sent the Dark Mark into the air, we could've caught _so many_ of them who'd escaped after You-Know-Who fell…"

"It wouldn't have done much good to capture them," Sirius sighed. "A few fines, perhaps, but the ones responsible for tormenting those poor Muggles have funnelled more than enough gold into the Ministry over the last fifteen years to ask any favours they'd like."

"Well, I would've just liked to get a few hexes in on Lucius Malfoy," Tonks said grimly. "Mum's told me _all_ about him – how he treated her, when she went off with Dad… I reckon if my aunt had never married him, she would still talk to my mum."

"Narcissa wasn't all bad," Sirius admittedly grudgingly, with a sigh.

"Mum says that, too. Says she probably adores that boy of hers," Tonks shrugged.

"She had only a boy? Narcissa should've been given girls," Sirius shook his head, with a sad smile. "Well, I'm sure she does dote on him. Hear he's a right little piece of work, though. Harry and Ron have told me… Anyway… What is your t-shirt in reference to, Maia?"

Maia glanced down. She had been living in her favourite new t-shirt recently, it was a black cotton one printed with a black-and-white image of Tyrion Lannister striking Joffrey, with the quote, '_And now I struck a King! Did my hand fall from my wrist?_' framing it in calligraphy.

"It's a – well, a series of novels that have been turned into a glorious television-show," Maia said. One thing that recently could get her enthusiastic in a conversation was to bring up _Game of_ _Thrones_. "The author's in his eighties and hasn't finished the books yet, but the show is incredible – this is the _best_ character, Tyrion the Imp, and _Joffrey_." She curled her lip, growling softly.

"Don't let her get started," Ailith said lightly. She was smiling warmly. "She's _obsessional_."

"So would you be too if you'd watch it," Maia chided, shaking her head. "You're _Muggle-born_, Ailith, of anyone you should appreciate Muggle telly."

"I appreciate that bribes of the box-set of DVDs finally coaxed you into the shower," Ailith said gently, reaching over to gently kiss the top of Maia's head. "You smell wonderful."

"Thank you," Maia said breezily. Sirius was still frowning at her t-shirt.

"So…why is he smacking the boy?" he asked curiously.

"Because he's the most sadistic bastard in the history of boy-dictators," Maia growled, fidgeting, agitated just at the thought of Joffrey. The character made her skin crawl – watching his gruesome death had given her far too much pleasure.

"Maia is very opinionated on matters of Westeros," Ailith chuckled, and Tonks laughed.

"You just don't like the show because Kit Harington's a bigger toff than you are!" Maia said, and Ailith laughed richly, her eyes twinkling.

"It's more my anxiety that every time I see Arya Stark, I wonder what the world might become if _you_ go astray," Ailith said, and Maia smirked: she had a fair point.

"Well, I'd get things sorted out, that's for certain," Maia sniffed. "The shell must break before the bird may fly."

"You worry me," Ailith sighed softly.

"I don't see why!" Maia said, her eyes widening. "I think I'd be a wonderful tyrant. Maia the Malicious. It's got a lovely ring to it."

"You'd look good on the bunting," Tonks said, with a grin, and Maia chuckled.

"Are you likely to be led astray?" Sirius asked, head tilted to the side in a doglike way.

"No!" Maia said indignantly. She sniffed. "More often than not I'm doing the _leading_." Sirius chuckled. Maia stifled a yawn, and rested her elbows on the table as Dashy refilled her teacup, and Ailith produced a pack of wizard cigarettes. Ailith would never light one, but she and Maia shared a similar habit, fiddling with them. "So…what happened?"

"With what, specifically?"

"Well… I've heard stories, about a rat and you and Harry Potter… Why are we here? Other than Voldemort nearly having returned?" Sirius blinked at her, surprised.

"You say his name."

"My aunt never wanted me afraid of a _name_. And no-one is unconquerable," Maia said, offering Sirius the tiffin stack. "The idea of him makes me angry, rather than anything else. Why reform the Order of the Phoenix now, not last summer when the Dark Mark was seen at the World Cup?"

"Has anyone told you what happened during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament? It's not widely known." Maia shook her head.

"Well, it really begins last year," Sirius sighed, setting his teacup down. "When I ambushed Harry and his friends on the Hogwarts grounds…" And he started to talk, his hoarse voice becoming richer the more he spoke, drinking more tea, eating steadily, seemingly unconscious of it. He spun a story so complex, about his godson Harry Potter, a group of teenaged unregistered Animagi, Voldemort, Mad-Eye and Voldemort's most loyal follower, Maia's head started to hurt by the end of it. Sirius explained how he had escaped Azkaban, _why_, and Maia silently processed the fact that Peter Pettigrew was alive, the man who had betrayed the Potters, and had scurried to his master, concocting a plan to restore him to power.

That plan had been dependent on Harry Potter's blood. Mad-Eye had spent nine months confined in his own magical trunk while Voldemort's most loyal Death Eater, Barty Crouch Jr., had masqueraded as the half-mad Auror, teaching at Hogwarts: Crouch had orchestrated Harry's participation in the Triwizard Tournament, and turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey. The moment the winning Champion touched the Cup, they were supposed to be transported to a graveyard, where Harry should have restored Voldemort to power, then died at his hands.

Things had gone awry, though. Despite Crouch's interference, Cedric Diggory had made it to the Cup, to the graveyard – Harry had stepped between him and a Killing Curse the moment he had realised they were in trouble, sacrificing himself, and Cedric had grabbed the portkey before any more curses could be flung… He had thought Harry dead; but for the second time in history, the same boy had survived the Killing Curse.

It wasn't the first time Harry had come across Voldemort – in the last four years, he had defeated him three times: once, at the end of his first year at Hogwarts, then the next year, when Lucius Malfoy had manoeuvred to open the mythical Chamber of Secrets using a relic of Voldemort's left in his possession. Several children had been Petrified by a Basilisk that lived deep in the bowels of Hogwarts Castle, and Mrs Weasley's only daughter, Ginny, had been taken by Voldemort, in the form of his seventeen-year-old self, into the Chamber, luring Harry. Maia rubbed her head, a sense of dread filling her stomach as she listened to the details of Ginny's possession, the diary Harry had destroyed with a Basilisk fang…

And then Mrs Weasley's husband had won the _Daily Prophet_ Grand Prize Draw, nine-hundred galleons they had spent to visit Bill in Egypt, their family photograph printed in the newspaper. The Minister of Magic had toured Azkaban, and he had given Sirius his copy of the _Prophet_. Sirius said he missed doing the crosswords – Maia's stomach flipped; she loved them too. History had been made when Sirius escaped Azkaban, to track down and kill the murderous traitor who had given Sirius' best-friends to Voldemort, orphaning Sirius' godson. Sirius had proven his innocence to Harry, to his old friend Remus, but Pettigrew had escaped; Sirius couldn't be proven innocent to the public. But Professor Dumbledore realised his innocence, and had orchestrated Sirius' escape, with Harry Potter and his friend Hermione's help, on the wings of a condemned hippogriff.

Pettigrew had escaped, and found Voldemort, in whatever form he lingered now. They had obtained information, plotted, placed Bartemius Crouch Sr. under the Imperius Curse, and concocted a plan to kill Harry Potter.

But it hadn't worked, and Harry had again bought the Wizard world some time. Time to change, to make sure Voldemort could never gain a foothold if he should ever regain power. And that was what the Order was for. To set things rolling.

What had happened to Harry during the Third Task wasn't common knowledge – and the Minister refused to believe "another cock-and-bull story" about Voldemort. But it had happened; Harry had survived the Killing Curse a second time. Voldemort's plan had been foiled, and Pettigrew was again on the run. But the moment Professor Dumbledore realised something was wrong – Barty Crouch Jr. under the guise of Mad-Eye had tried to kill Harry when he and Cedric returned to Hogwarts – he had sent word to Sirius. In the hospital-wing at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore had instructed Sirius to reform the Order of the Phoenix.

What Maia took away from all of this information was that Sirius had achieved the impossible: he had escaped an impenetrable prison to protect the godson Sirius hadn't seen since Harry was a baby. He was _deeply_ loyal. Even after eleven years' constant exposure to Dementors, Sirius' determination to protect his loved ones, even to his own detriment, was stronger than in anyone Maia had ever met.

"–so now I have a ten-thousand galleon price on my head," Sirius sighed, though his lips twitched subtly as if in faint amusement. He must try and find amusement where he could, Maia thought. She stared at Sirius, slowly lowering her glass.

"I could do a lot with ten thousand galleons," she mused. Sirius chuckled.

"Well, if you're keen to turn me in, just promise me you'll give half the funds to Remus," he said, with a laconic smile. Maia smiled, but it quickly faded as she watched her uncle. Harry had survived, for the second time, a curse no other witch or wizard in _history_ had ever survived?! He had stepped in front of it, mindlessly sacrificing his own life to protect a boy he barely knew? Churning all this over, Maia wondered how any kid could handle the kinds of things Harry Potter seemed to be put through on a regular basis, and she frowned.

"Sirius…?"

"Mm?"

"Why did nobody think to use Veritaserum on you—I mean, during your trial, they must have taken your testimony?" she asked, frowning. She hadn't taken Law at school, but one of her friends had, and she had consumed his textbooks; and besides that, she had studied everything she could on Wizengamot law. Sirius gave her a very dark smile.

"I was never given a trial," he said, and Maia's eyes popped.

"They threw you into Azkaban without giving you a trial?" she gasped, mortified. "But—but you were facing multiple murder charges, they couldn't _do_ that!"

"Well, a street full of witnesses—Muggles—thought they'd seen Pettigrew corner me, shouting that I'd betrayed Lily and James," Sirius said, his cheekbones popping as his features seemed to sharpen with suppressed rage. _So that's what I look like when I'm angry_, Maia thought. "He blew up the street with a wand behind his back. Cut his finger off, so they'd think that was all that was left."

"But—you were innocent. They could have used Veritaserum; that would have proved instantly you were no spy!" Her back straightened, a simmering anger soothing her shock. "You spent eleven years in Azkaban because they didn't give you a trial? You could nail the entire legal department to the wall."

"I'm still hopeful I'll have the chance to," Sirius said, and he gave her another of his sudden, wolfish grins.

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**A.N.**: Please review!


	3. The Boggart in the Wardrobe

**A.N.**: Hi everyone! So I was on Pinterest earlier and I found the photo of the most amazing red-haired guy with freckles all over him – I've posted the link on my profile here; mix his colouring and freckles with Liam Hemsworth, you've got my Weasley twins.

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**The Eldest of the Pleiades**

_03_

_The Boggart in the Wardrobe_

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"So what does the Order _do_, exactly?"

"Well, during the War, we fought the Death Eaters, tried to do everything we could to stop Voldemort's reign of terror spreading," Sirius said. Maia liked that he used Voldemort's name. The others flinched at the sound of it, but she had always found it to be nonsense. Especially when gossiping in public with Elsa, saying 'You-Know-Who' could mean anyone. Mostly, Elsa's pureblood aunt who absolutely _loathed_ her. "But it was futile, almost. The Death Eaters outnumbered us twenty to one, and kept picking us off. Now, though, we've reinstated during peacetime, which has made it easier to recruit new members, and we've got quite a few high-profile wizards on our side."

"What do _you_ do?"

"Not much of anything," Sirius said gloomily, pulling a face, and Mrs Weasley tsked behind him, rolling her eyes. He caught Maia's expression and gave a rueful smile, saying, "Dumbledore's pretty shrewd about what Voldemort might have planned once he regained his powers, so we're doing everything we can to make it impossible to do so, should he ever return." Maia nodded.

"I don't see how him banishing _me_ here will do anything to help," she said sourly, crinkling her nose at the ceiling, cringing at the imagined filth of whichever bedroom she was given to sleep in.

"Well, he wasn't keen on you being left alone," Sirius shrugged slightly.

"I'm not alone; Dashy and I have each other. I used to have Simba but she's a little _slut_ when it comes to Ailith." Ailith glanced over, shooting them a smile, as she rubbed her thumbs either side of Simba's head, the cat's expression rapturous.

"You're not really under house-arrest, you know," Sirius said quietly, and Maia gave an internal wince; Sirius had been imprisoned for eleven years… She wondered if his grief over his best-friends' murder had…slightly maddened him…why else would he have gone with the Aurors so willingly? He had…been laughing… She watched his features, wasted but still showing signs of extraordinary good looks – a few Rejuvenation Drafts she had reinvented would do him a world of good with a few very generous meals daily. "I know there must be things you'd like to do, things you might've already planned…and I would never keep you here when you're unhappy being stuck inside… Diagon Alley's not that far to walk from here…" Maia nodded. "So…do you have things planned? For the summer? Dumbledore mentioned you'd finished some Muggle exams…"

Maia licked her lips, and sighed softly. "Yeah, I, um… Well, I'd…I'd already promised I'd babysit a lot this summer," she said honestly, in barely a mumble, her shoulders drooping. She had been so looking forward to her days with Opal – and she hated the bilious feeling in her stomach, the guilt and shame of maybe having to tell Jules that she couldn't babysit. His parents were going to South Africa for a month, she was supposed to babysit three days a week for Jules while they were gone. She sighed, glancing at Sirius. "Is the Order doing anything about the werewolves?"

"'Doing anything' as in culling?" Sirius frowned, eyeing her inscrutably.

"No, abolishing that legislature Umbridge has pushed through recently," Maia scowled. "It's _impossible_ for one of my werewolf friends to get a job. And he could've been my generation's Dumbledore. He used to lecture all over the world…"

"Well, as a matter of fact we have a werewolf representative liaising with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for a change in their status," Sirius said quietly, though Maia scoffed; she loathed that Department. An odd shiver passed over Sirius' face, but Maia turned fully toward him, her attention gripped.

"Really?" she asked suspiciously, trying to quash the feeling of elation spreading through her stomach. She sat up straight. "Well then, there's –" She broke off, and Sirius gave her a coaxing smile.

"What?"

"Well, there are…there are a few people the Order should talk to, then…" she said, trailing off uncertainly. Sirius looked surprised.

"Really?" She nodded slowly.

"One couple I know, she was the previous Head of the International Office of Magical Law, and she sat on the Wizengamot. Her husband was an Unspeakable," Maia said, frowning tersely. "They were both bitten about ten years ago, though. They saved their son from the same fate, but he's just entered the Ministry and he's trying to support them all. He's losing so much _weight_."

"Well, they sound exactly the type of people the Order is trying to recruit," Sirius said thoughtfully. "Do you know of any others?"

"What, werewolves? A few. Other witches and wizards, too…" Maia sighed sadly.

"Perhaps this is why Dumbledore wanted you here," Sirius said shrewdly. "Who else would you recommend the Order approach about purging the Ministry?"

"Where to begin?" Maia said grimly. She heaved a sigh. "Totty, and Jules would be good – Lucrezia, too. She'd find creative ways of getting the message out. She knows how to make a point…" She trailed off thoughtfully, wanting to go through her contacts book and sort out who she would bring into a secret organisation intent on revolution from different spheres of wizard society, through different means. She glanced up. "What else are you trying to do? If I know a little more about the Order's aims I might be able to draw up a list of target recruits."

"Well, closest to _my_ heart is the movement to manoeuvre control of Azkaban from the Dementors." Though she couldn't truly appreciate the strength of Sirius's aversion to them after having every happy thought and memory drained from him for eleven years, Maia's own aversion to them made her shiver just at the mention. Forget Voldemort, a Dementor had always given her more terror than anything in the world, even a few ancient Peruvian Aztec curses, and being embalmed alive.

"Well, the best person for that is probably Madam Bones – Amelia Bones," Maia said, and Sirius raised his eyebrows. "She'd make a wonderful Minister for Magic if Fudge would just _die_… I'd like to see Umbridge try and get her way around _Amelia_. And actually, she'd be ideal, if the aim is to hopefully get your name cleared… She's head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Is she? I'm glad," Sirius said quietly. "The War took a horrific toll on the Bones family."

"I know," Maia said quietly. Almost as bad a toll as on Maia's own family. "Her niece goes to Hogwarts, she's told me. I like Amelia. She's tough and fair… She sent a note after I received that last official warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office."

"Really?"

"She said she'd have made exceptional circumstances, because of…well, everything – but if she dismissed it over the 'intense emotional rupture' I'm suffering, and it got out, she'd have every obnoxious sixteen-year-old claiming they're suffering depression or some kind of anxiety complex," Maia sighed, giving a funny shrug. "At least I know that if I was brought up in front of her officially, she'd let me off."

"You don't go up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office without at least five warnings," Sirius frowned, and Maia pointedly glanced away, clearing her throat and examining her fingernails nonchalantly, glancing away as she whistled guiltily, feeling her cheeks warm. He surprised her, chuckling richly. "What were they for?" So, Maia told him – he was giggling by the time she finished telling him about the warning she had received before this last one.

"…anyway… I didn't _mean_ to turn him into an octopus," she said, sighing softly. Several people chuckled. "Quite frankly if I'd had my wand on me and consciously wanted to use magic, I would've done a lot worse."

"I don't think there was a week that went by when girls didn't turn their respective partners into animals, when I taught at Hogwarts," Mr Lupin, Remus, said, smiling. "Howler-monkeys were on-trend during the spring term… Sirius, I thought you'd have shown Maia around the house."

"I'm attempting to prevent too much exposure," Sirius said, sighing. He glanced at Maia. "There's all sorts of nasty stuff just lying around this house." Maia glanced at Sirius, her interest perking up.

"Really?" she asked, keeping her voice politely curious rather than eager. Sirius nodded.

"I should show you around, just so you know what not to touch," he sighed. "Grab a plate, Moony – Maia's trying to fatten us up, look at all this!" Sirius was on his fourth ham sandwich, and he had been munching steadily through fresh scones and fruit.

"Sirius, be careful," Remus said, frowning concernedly. "You're like a starving alley-cat, if you binge on food in one go you'll make yourself ill."

"Excuse me, I am no _cat_," Sirius cried indignantly, giving Remus a quirky look, and Maia glanced between the two men.

"You could both do with putting on some weight," Mrs Weasley declared, glancing from Remus to Sirius. "You're both skin and grief." Sirius stuck out his tongue at Remus.

"So there!" he said, grinning wolfishly. He promptly reached for two scones, slathering them with fresh butter, copious amounts of jam and fresh clotted-cream. Dashy poured him a cup of tea, giving him an indulgent smile (she liked anyone who showed appreciation for her or Maia's cooking) and he grunted enthusiastically as he chewed a mouthful of scone.

"Padfoot, a little decorum while you're trying to impress your only niece," Remus sighed, shaking his head. He smacked the soles of Sirius' boots, which were crossed on the edge of the kitchen-table, almost flattening Sirius on his back as his chair wobbled on the two back legs. Sirius flailed, but righted his chair without dropping his scone, and grunted something at Remus, who raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, go and show Maia around, before the others arrive."

Sirius sighed heavily, rubbing his face tiredly, but he hauled himself out of his chair and Maia followed, waving slightly to Tonks and Ailith. Simba remained lolling, being petted, in Ailith's lap, but Dashy followed after Maia. Pressing a finger to his lips as they passed the moth-eaten curtains, Sirius showed them to a dining-room with grimy windows overlooking the square, the curtains buzzing with doxies – a polished oval table was inlaid beautifully with golden and cherry woods and silver. Sirius showed them a glimpse into the library – "full of cursed books; don't touch a _thing_ in there, unless you're intending to follow your friend Bill's footsteps as a curse-breaker!" and as they wandered around, Maia could hear things scuttling and scraping against the insides of the panelled walls, and as for the greenhouse built onto the back of the house, into the garden that ended with a coach-house and a cobbled courtyard shared with the neighbouring houses, "full of Devil's Snare – it's a wonder the foundations are still sound, I have no idea how it hasn't crept into the Muggle houses next-door. We'd be in trouble then…"

"This is atrocious," Maia said darkly, crinkling her nose as she cupped her hands on the glass, peering into the gloom. Things were _glowing_ in there, phosphorescent and eerie, and she caught a few glimpses of fuchsia and livid orange amongst the mulch of the undergrowth beneath larger unusual shrubs and plants. "You said there's a house-elf here? Someone needs to have a _word_ with him." She glanced down, exchanging a significant look with Dashy – she _loathed_ mess. No-one cleaned like Dashy – the properties on Maia's estate that had been left abandoned for decades were pristine; anyone could have moved in at an hour's notice and the fires would have been blazing, the beds turned down.

"That is an idea," Sirius said, but his tone wasn't nasty; he sighed heavily, leaning against the glass-paned panelling. The stretch of wall featuring the doors to the greenhouse were still panelled, but the upper-half of the wall was of glass, and Maia thought the corridor could have made quite a pretty gallery with trinkets nestled on the inbuilt bookshelves and a few chaises and armchairs around the small fireplaces. But the wood panelling was damp, the glass grimy and moulded, and despite keeping within the property's magically-protected borders, the contents of the greenhouse hadn't had any qualms about trying to get further into the house. "You're family – Kreacher _should_ do all you ask, but he won't answer to me."

"You're his family," Maia frowned.

"I was blasted off the tapestry," Sirius sighed heavily, shrugging nonchalantly like it didn't bother him, but Maia thought he was trying to hide it that it _did_. She frowned.

"What tapestry?"

"Up in the drawing-room. It's been in the family for centuries," Sirius said, crinkling his nose. "Of course, whenever the family produced someone halfway decent, they were disowned. I'm not on there anymore; Tonks' mum Andromeda was blasted off, too – Tonks isn't on there. But Regulus – he was the favourite. He's still on there, I'd imagine. I haven't looked. But you're his daughter, and Kreacher always loved him." She heard that muffled scrabbling and scratching again, stifling a shiver as she glanced at the panelled walls, wondering about what was living inside them. In a magical house like this, it could be nifflers – but it could also be much worse, like _lethifolds_. She was surprised the entire structure hadn't been reduced to embers by Ashwinder serpents.

"Was the house this grim when you grew up here?" Maia asked, hoping Sirius wouldn't take offence at her attitude toward the property.

"Worse," Sirius said heavily. "My parents were still alive."

"When did they die?" Maia asked – by his tone, she knew there was no love lost between Sirius and his parents – her grandparents – and she wondered what type of people they were. How could it have been so bad, with his _family_, that Sirius had _left_?

"My mother, about ten years ago," Sirius shrugged. "Kreacher's been on his own since. My father, five years or so before that. Died just…just after Regulus went missing."

"He went missing?" Maia blinked. "My aunt told me he'd died."

"Well, 'going missing' during the War was synonymous with being presumed dead," Sirius sighed, then shrugged slightly. "Even among their own ranks, Death Eaters turned on each other." Maia blinked, her stomach seeming to evaporate.

Very quietly, she said, "My father was a Death Eater?"

"Stupid idiot," Sirius said dispassionately. Then he glanced at her, and his intent frown eased. "I left this place when he was still young. Maybe if I'd stayed in contact, things might have been different. I'd've set him straight about our parents' pureblood mania…they were convinced Voldemort had the right idea."

Maia's mouth suddenly felt very dry, her stomach no twisting unpleasantly. "Were…" Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat, "Were they Death Eaters too?"

"No," Sirius said lightly. "Foul enough to be, but they'd never have bent knees before another wizard. Not when they believed that to be a Black meant you were wizard royalty." He caught her eye. "We're the last of a very ancient pureblood family. I don't know if the family origins were always Dark, but that's what we became. This place became a shrine to our bloodline."

"It's vile," Maia said, crinkling her nose again; she got the impression Sirius _loathed_ this place. He was deeply unhappy here, she could almost taste his bitterness at being trapped in a place that held so many bad memories for him – Sirius, an escapee of the top-security cells of Dementor-infested Azkaban.

"If I had my way I'd burn it to the ground," Sirius said quietly, looking deeply unhappy as he trailed toward the staircase. "Feel free to take anything you like the look of, if you can find anything, but I've told Molly she can strip the place." Dashy shot Maia a warning frown behind Sirius' back; she knew Maia would be tempted by whatever unusual potion ingredients she might find lying about, but at least now she was under another wizard's roof. And Sirius had to have had some experience fighting Dark magic, having warred against Death Eaters… She found herself asking, "When you were in the Order last time…did you never come across your brother?"

"No," Sirius shrugged, glancing back at her. He sighed softly. "I don't know what I'd have done if I had. Or what he'd have done."

"How old were you when you ran away?"

"About sixteen," Sirius sighed. "Just finished my fifth-year at Hogwarts…things were getting darker, more dangerous. There were deaths, strange disappearances…people I knew at Hogwarts were being affected, their families torn apart, attacked by Greyback, Dementors were attacking left, right and centre…" A shiver crossed his face, and a deadened, hollow look Maia associated with Dementors shadowed his grey eyes. "My parents kept going on and on about the purification of the wizard race… I couldn't stand it – I left, I went to James' parents' place. I got my own place when I was seventeen; when I left Hogwarts, Dumbledore had already asked me to join the Order." Maia nodded to herself, and Sirius guided them up the stairs – she stopped dead halfway up on the landing, her jaw popping open, hyper-aware of an appalled Dashy at her knee. There was a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques, each with the same distinctive snout-like nose. Horrified, Maia tried to cover Dashy's eyes. Dashy's ears were flat against her head, something that hadn't occurred since venturing into that last tomb in Egypt with Bill, where the pharaoh's house-elves had been embalmed alive and rested beside him, ready to serve him in the afterlife.

"Er… What…what…?" She had no words.

"Our dear Aunt Elladora started the tradition of beheading our house-elves when they got too old to carry a tea-tray," Sirius said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, frowning as he regarded the heads. "We've only just managed to secure this place for Headquarters, so we haven't begun decontaminating most of it yet. But we'll make it fit to live in. Bill's offered to help; we'll need his expertise, this place is full of Dark objects. Until then, best only use the bathroom in this floor; Remus and Molly attacked it first thing."

The house was centuries old, built during the Georgian period, and the panelling concealed cupboards, entire rooms, and she was sure, secret passages; huge windows overlooking the square did little to let in the light. There was one painting, in a twin bedroom, that Sirius said they had to keep, for the Order's use, but the rest of the house could be stripped. It was dismal, dark and decaying, and Maia found herself wanting a cardigan despite the heat she had baked herself in at the Hobbit-hole. She felt like she was Belle walking around Beast's castle, or Pip tentatively stepping into Miss Havisham's dining-room, everything sweetly decayed and distorted from time.

She did try to find some beauty in the place, her artist's, inventor's eye picking up tiny details that his hatred of the place made Sirius overlook. She loved art, culture, history – she loved unique pieces of furniture, her tastes more Art Deco contemporary with flourishes of traditionalism, but she loved ceramics, glass, sculptures, photography, she collected ornaments and pretty things from around the world. And unique potions-ingredients and dazzling joke items.

"So, aside from Muggle television, what else do you do with your time?" Sirius asked, glancing at her. Having been imprisoned and then on the run for fourteen years, Maia guessed Sirius wouldn't have much to say about himself; she didn't feel much like talking about herself, but Sirius had invited her into a home he loathed, to keep an eye on her. He knew what it felt like to have lost the person he loved best in the world.

So as they wandered around the house, Maia told him about travelling, and the people she would invite into the Order, about her bees and the goats she had got off Aberforth, going dancing with Elsa, collecting joke-items from magical shops around the world, some of her pen-pals, and what she liked to eat. "I've been living off rats, mostly," Sirius admitted, with a deep sigh, and he chuckled at the appalled, nauseated look on Maia's face – and Dashy's indignant splutter, her enormous eyes widening further. "I was living up in a cave in the mountains around Hogsmeade, couldn't nick too much from the village or I might've tipped someone off… Harry sent care-packages whenever he could…"

"Do you have a fixation with _Rattus rattus_?" Maia asked lightly, and Sirius' lips twitched.

"It's something pathological," he assured her. "Well, this is the drawing-room." There were grubby tapestries covering the walls, but behind them the wallpaper had once been handsome olive-green silk. Glass-fronted cabinets flanking the fireplace made the hair at the back of her nape stand up, something shivering down her spine as she peered through the glass. She noticed something then – something she should have pointed out to Sirius, but she didn't, and months later, she still felt guilty about not having said anything. Amongst eerie daggers, a gnarled hand, an Order of Merlin and a music-box, there was a small, polished wooden box; on the top, an oval disc of gold was embossed with the form of a badger, worked into a coat-of-arms. Maia knew that coat-of-arms anywhere, it was engraved above the gates to the Big House and some of the buildings in the abandoned village. It was the d'Astaire sigil. What was it doing _here_? And there was an aged parchment enveloped propped against it, the handwriting so familiar it felt as if she had been pinched, she started so badly. Neither Dashy, who was inspecting the buzzing curtains, nor Sirius, who was examining the bottom of one of the moth-eaten tapestries, noticed, and she didn't draw attention to the box, but it filled her with curiosity – and a little dread. She noticed the basin etched with runes, a Pensieve, on the shelf beside the box, and a small black velvet drawstring bag resting inside it, covered in a layer of dust; a fang rested on the shelf, a rusted dagger beside it, and Maia crinkled her nose at a squat bottle filled with a glutinous dark liquid, the stopper set with an opal.

"Have you seen this?" Maia asked, glancing over her shoulder at Sirius. "There's a Hand of Glory in here. Bill showed me them in the tombs in Egypt, _loads_ of them, wizards used to use them to sneak into the tombs, but once they got inside there were all sorts of magical booby-traps in place. Some of them were quite gruesome, but I learned a _lot_."

"Bill's talked about working in the tombs," Sirius said, a ghost of a smile illuminating his face, as he strolled over to her. "Once upon a time, I'd thought about it, too…"

"Very few Dementors in the Egyptian desert," Maia said, and Sirius grinned then.

"Come and have a look at these," he said. "They might appeal to your artist's eye." And he led her to the corner of the room, where another cabinet rested, raised off the ground with glass shelves, illuminated from within when Sirius muttered something, and Maia gasped softly, stepping closer. Her maternal grandmother had owned a collection of magical _Fabergé_-style eggs – only far more sumptuous and even more priceless – and Maia had always been allowed to look, but never to touch them; they resided in a maple cabinet in the Big House, and Diane was always too afraid that she'd never be able to repair them if Maia accidentally damaged one. Only Thistletack was allowed to clean them.

And the Black family had their own, much smaller collection, but they were still as exquisite, in their own ways. Such beautiful pieces of artwork transcended their owners – whether they had been Dark wizards didn't matter; they had exceptional taste.

"My family were bastards, the lot of them, but my great-grandfather was an incredibly wealthy wizard with a highly-acquisitive, very fashionable wife… The eggs were a yearly gift at Easter."

"Fabergé would be spitting with envy," Maia breathed, gazing at the eggs. There were a dozen, and Sirius frowned at one in particular.

"This one's new," he said softly. About the size of a swan's egg, Sirius pointed out the pale lilac-blue lacquered egg, shimmering in the golden light within the cabinet. As she observed the egg from different angles, she could see designs lightly etched into the enamel, Opaleye dragons, snakes, striped badgers, heartsease violets and evening-primroses, but like watching coals, or an opal in the sunlight, the designs changed as she watched, some figures dominating, shimmering with colourful opalescence, changing into others, sometimes faster, sometimes the jewel-scaled Opaleye dragon dominated the entire egg, and it burned against her eyes; sometimes the egg seemed to be made entirely of jewels in the form of violets, glittering and awing, and sometimes the jewelled, enamel forget-me-nots that clustered together to form the stand seemed to overgrow the Opaleye, until the snake slithered amongst the tiny blossoms, and a badger gambolled around in them happily. Always, as she watched, the snake would seek out the badger, wrapping itself around the badger in a sort of embrace. The one part of the egg that remained unchanging was a little oval of ivory painted with a tiny portrait, a smiling baby with dark curls and hazel eyes, although the baby did grin with delight occasionally, flashing perfect pearl teeth. As Maia looked closer, she saw that the portrait seemed to be cradled on the back of another badger, and that the diamond frame around the portrait was actually a snake, embracing the badger with its tail, surrounding the miniature portrait, the snake's head tucked affectionately beneath the badger's, both heads facing the picture.

Maia felt her mouth go dry again. "That's…that's me." Sirius glanced at her, his eyebrows rising. He looked back at the egg; she was a toddler in the painting, but she had seen photographs of herself with her glorious blonde mother. Sirius opened the cabinet, and delicately lifted the egg out of its forget-me-not cradle. On the back, another oval was framed with diamonds, but instead of a portrait, there was writing etched into the silver. Maia's name, the date of her birth, how much she had weighed…everything.

"He…must have had it commissioned," he said softly, looking surprised. But Maia was staring at the egg.

"He can't have," Maia said hollowly. "He died when I was a baby – I'm a toddler there… My…my mother must have had it made, her family collected eggs too." She thought she saw a muscle tick in Sirius' jaw as he cradled the egg as he might an ancient grenade, but his hands were steady when he set the egg back into its forget-me-not cradle. Maia had never known much about her parents, had never liked to bring up the topic with Diane, who had known her mother so well, mourned her truly where Maia only wished she could have known her. Diane had known nothing of her father beyond his family's unusual naming traditions. Here, now, Maia wondered how a family so awful could have such a lovely naming tradition.

"My mother must have been relieved he'd produced an heir," Sirius said, with a heavy sigh. He shook his head, then closed the cabinet door. The light slowly faded, but Maia didn't take her eyes off that egg. "You can move them up to your room later, if you'd like." Maia blinked, surprised.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Anything you like the look of, move it up to your room so we don't chuck it," Sirius said, shrugging slightly, and Maia nodded. She remembered what he'd said about burning the house to the foundations. He showed her into cluttered parlours full of spine-tingling artefacts, spare-bedrooms with dressing-tables set with dusty snuffboxes and powders Sirius suggested were probably jinxed. A grandfather clock on another floor spat heavy bolts at them when they passed.

"We could do a roaring trade down Knocturn Alley," Maia breathed, as they wandered into the corridor again, careful of the slumbering portraits.

"I'd ask Dung to sell the things on but he'd just pocket the Galleons," Sirius sighed, his lips twitching. They entered a large playroom that might once have been handsome and airy, the walls hand-painted with animal murals, but they moved sluggishly, and Maia thought the room seemed to have been left as a shrine to Sirius' and Regulus' childhood – "more Regulus' than my own, I assure you…" He gestured to one of the corners, where a raised platform guarded by balustrades featured a writing-desk, and a mobile of model phoenixes, dragons and Snitches. There were drawings and paintings pinned to the walls, around photographs hung neatly in a line – they were of two very similar-looking boys with dark hair and fair eyes, but Sirius' unhappiness radiated from behind the dusty glass. Maia's attention was drawn to the drawings, though, her stomach aching.

"My father did these?" she asked quietly.

"He was always artistic," Sirius shrugged. "Whenever our cousins used to stop by the house for tea, I'd…hide him up under his bed, with a packet of colouring pencils… I _hated_ her."

"Who?"

"Bellatrix – Andromeda's elder sister," Sirius sighed. "She had two – sisters, I mean – Bellatrix, the elder, and Narcissa, the youngest. Well, Cissy was never stupid enough to become a Death Eater herself, but she married Voldemort's right-hand. But Bella…she was more than evil enough before she joined Voldemort…"

"What happened to her?"

"She's in Azkaban," Sirius said quietly. "After Harry defeated Voldemort, she, her husband, his brother and Barty Crouch Jr. tortured an Auror and his wife to insanity, trying to find him. What was left of him. You might have heard of her – Bellatrix Lestrange is her married-name." Maia glanced up.

"I've heard of her – she's your cousin?" Maia said, stunned. A nasty aftertaste lingered in her mouth as she realised, _she_ was related to Bellatrix Lestrange too. As they wandered through the playroom, she kept glancing at Sirius, wondering how on earth he had ever escaped this place, his _family_, unscathed. Despite – or perhaps _in spite_ of his family – Sirius had grown into an incredibly loyal, fearless man who had fought for what he believed was right, no matter the personal consequence… Of all the witches and wizards locked in Azkaban, Sirius alone had been worthy of escaping – he may have broken out to murder Peter Pettigrew, but his intent had always been to protect his godson.

"Mm," Sirius said, his lips twisting in distaste.

"Augusta Longbottom used to come to tea quite often," Maia said softly, glancing at Sirius, her insides twisting. "It was her son they tortured to insanity, wasn't it. Mrs Longbottom talks about her grandson a lot. She says he's not as talented as his parents, but I don't see how pointing that out is any good for his confidence." Sirius chuckled softly.

"I'm afraid there are amends I must make to Neville Longbottom," he sighed, hands in his pockets. "He was banned from visiting Hogsmeade because of me."

"Augusta sent him a Howler," Maia said quietly, glancing at Sirius out of the corner of her eye. "She was livid." Sirius grimaced guiltily; he knew a Howler was one of the worst things a Hogwarts student could receive. He fidgeted with the handle of a glass-fronted cabinet, full of wizard board-games, puzzles and books. Sirius looked about the playroom sadly, using his wand to clean the dust off photographs on the mantelpiece by which a bespoke rocking-chair stood, drawing Maia's attention immediately due to the design. It was beautiful, and she dusted the seat off before settling herself into it, rocking gently. Sirius eyed her quietly, as she rocked, the ghost of something flickering across his face.

"Regulus was a terrible baby," he said suddenly, his voice so soft, almost faraway, that Maia wondered if he was even speaking to her. "He never stopped crying… One night, I wanted to throttle him, so I went to his nursery… I looked into his cot, and he stopped crying… He smiled at me. I took him out of the cot and sat in that armchair all night with him… He wasn't a bad man, Maia, I don't want you to think he was… He was just too young, mixed up with the wrong people…" Maia nodded. He glanced around the room again, as if uncomfortable with having revealed that, but Maia appreciated hearing just that tiny piece of information about her dad, the way Sirius had been with his _brother_. "When we were children, we had our own Christmas-tree in here. I would drag our little folding camp-beds here, and we'd sleep by the tree, watching the fairies glitter…"

He gestured to her, and she followed him out of the playroom, to another room on the same floor, a single letter embossed on the small silver plaque on the door, _A_. "This was Drum's room, whenever she and her sisters used to visit. It's one of the nicest rooms, though it'll need a thorough clean." It was a nice room, considering – Andromeda had been far less acquisitive than their ancestors, or perhaps the room had been cleared out after she had been disowned, the furniture was sparse but beautiful; a pretty frieze had been painted below the ceiling, a chandelier dangled from the ceiling with a decade's worth of cobwebs, a delicate fireplace was surrounded by a shelved, mirrored mantelpiece perfect for trinkets, and two huge windows overlooked the park. There was a chest-of-drawers, a delicate writing-desk and a tall wardrobe in the far corner past the double-bed draped with a diaphanous silvery-pearl canopy of silk-organza. But the paint on the walls was faded, the curtains were buzzing, little puffs of dust wafted up whenever they stepped on the carpet and the air was close and decayed.

"Padfoot?" a voice said, very gently, and Sirius glanced around, stepping into the hall.

"We'll be down in a minute," she heard Sirius say, and he smiled wanly at her as he glanced back into the room. "The others have started to arrive, want to come downstairs and meet them?" Down in the basement, Dashy had found the washroom and got the laundry-service working, filling that part of the basement with fragrant steam; she was already getting started on the cleaning, to Mrs Weasley's delight, and they chatted about the chores that needed doing as Maia retrieved Simba's bed, bowl and a basket of toys, setting her up in a corner of the kitchen. At home, Simba wasn't allowed in the bedrooms, and Simba had the sense not to go exploring in this house; she seemed content to stay in Ailith's lap. Sirius found the mouse with a little bell attached to a stick, and sat playing with Simba for a little while, before she climbed into his lap and stayed there, purring contentedly as he scratched her behind the ears.

Remus pulled out a small, old pocket-watch, examining the face, just as the doorbell clanged upstairs. Maia jumped as a sudden ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech rent the air, clapping her hands over her ears.

"I've asked them not to use the doorbell!" Remus moaned.

"—_Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers_—" Remus jogged upstairs, cringing. The screaming upstairs came to an abrupt stop, and Simba's hair settled, having shot up all down her back, on edge.

Sirius seemed to delight in the number of people who slowly trickled downstairs; Mad-Eye kept a watch on the front-door to catch people before they rang the doorbell, and Maia became self-conscious of her choice of knickers. Telling Tonks this made her snort cider through her nostrils in a peal of giggles. Until she remembered what _she _was wearing under her skirt, and a soft blush rose in her cheeks. Maia met several newcomers, an excitable Dedalus Diggle in a violet silk top-hat, and stately Emmeline Vance, and more, and Dashy kept everyone in beverages and snacks.

Each of the witches and wizards she met smiled at her kindly, their gazes taking in her features, remarking to Sirius the striking resemblance they had to each other. Every time they said that, Maia got a thrill; it was a strange experience to suddenly look very like someone who was her _family_, when she had never even known of him. The kitchen steadily filled up with witches and wizards. Bill introduced his father, Arthur Weasley, the balding, bespectacled man who said eagerly, "I hear you went to school with _Muggles_! You must tell me—"

"Is everybody here yet?" Moody grunted irritably up the stairs, and Mr Weasley broke off, glancing eagerly at the stairs.

"Nearly, Alastor," Remus said patiently, and Mrs Weasley started fussing over how tired her husband looked, though her eyes still looked red, and Maia noticed Bill's expression darken at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks. She wondered again what was upsetting Mrs Weasley. She declared Bill's hair too long, Maia "far too thin" and was only cut off lecturing by the arrival of several more Order members.

"Maia, my duck, why don't you go and strip your bed," Dashy suggested; behind her, Maia could see the laundry-service clacking away busily, sheets and pillowcases scrubbing themselves while feather duvets and pillows wrung themselves out, left to fluff and inflate by the warm fire. "There's nothing worse than climbing into bed between dirty sheets."

Maia snickered. "_Dirty sheets_. Dirty!" Smirking, she dodged Dashy as she made to swipe and clip her ear, but Tonks stood and said she'd let Amos in when Mad-Eye mentioned he was on the step.

"I'll start a list of jobs that need doing around here," Maia said to Sirius, "and what we need to obtain." First thing first, she intended to open the windows in her room and let in some light.

"Are you going to have us waxing floors on our hands and knees?" Remus asked, sidling up with an approving smile, and Sirius grimaced at the idea of manual labour.

"What's that about you being on your knees, Remus?" Tonks asked brightly, hopping into place beside Maia with a saucy smile, her eyes twinkling. Remus's lips twitched with a smile, but he seemed to not let himself ever look at Tonks for too long.

"Hello, Tonks," he chuckled softly. "Just discussing the cleaning with Maia."

"Oh, I see—that's really nice, you know," Tonks said, fiddling with her wand absent-mindedly as her sharp, sparkling dark eyes flitted from Maia to Remus, "you bring this poor girl here and force her to clean."

"It was Maia's idea!" Remus said, at the same time Maia said, "It has to be done." Tonks followed Maia upstairs, tripping over her own feet twice before they reached the foot of the stone stairs, and Maia had to watch that she didn't fall down said stairs tripping over her shoelaces.

"Thank Merlin Remus got rid of that troll's-leg umbrella stand," Tonks sighed. "I knocked it over three times in five minutes the first afternoon I was here. Have you seen those house-elf heads?"

"Dashy was appalled," Maia said darkly, and Tonks grimaced, nodding. She had been to tea at the Hobbit-hole often enough that she was familiar with and liked Dashy, who always sent Tonks off in the evening with a box of freshly-baked biscuits. She left Tonks in the front hall, letting a bearded wizard in, and made her way upstairs, dodging the grandfather-clock. It was strange, being in a house with people she had met little more than two hours ago, and taking charge of _cleaning_. Except at Elsa's, when Maia would help to do the washing-up after dinner, unasked, Maia would never even consider walking into someone else's house and start cleaning. But this was different – she wondered how long the place had before it was condemned, and she couldn't believe any house-elf who lived here could ever have let it get to this state. Sirius had told her Kreacher the house-elf had been taking "mad" orders from the portrait of Sirius' mother, what they were, Maia could only imagine. Maybe the only thing for this place, she thought, as she crinkled her nose at a particular fungus growing on the skirting-board in the corridor, was to purge it with fire as Sirius wanted.

Maia was Sirius' niece by blood, though she wasn't a Black by name, so this Kreacher should do as she asked. But she didn't like the concept of house-elves being tied to families; Dashy had been with her and Diane for fourteen years, and she and the other elves each earned a very fair salary, had holiday time, and Diane had set aside some money in her will so they would have a generous pension when they finally got too old. But Diane was a rare bird, and Maia had learned her eccentricities from her. There were few wizards who held their same beliefs, and it was odd to think there was another being bonded magically to her for the rest of his life.

She entered her new room, sighed heavily at the grim nature of it, and set to work, retrieving Doxycide with a flick of her wand, and knotted a scarf over her mouth and nose. Quickly and efficiently, she sprayed the buzzing curtains, and with a grin she conjured a small cage for the doxies, and a glass jar for their glistening black eggs. She would use them later in experimental potions. Quickly tugging down the damp curtains, she folded them up, and almost suffocated herself dumping them on the floor; a great plume of dust swarmed around her, and she coughed and spluttered, glad of the scarf over her face. She waved her wand, and the dust coating most of the room – she wasn't proficient, but she had learned enough household spells to keep the oven pristine and do her own washing. She coughed, sniffed and removed the scarf from her face, then set to opening the windows – she jiggled, tugged, painstakingly shoved and resorted to kicking the windows open, then stripped the bed down to the mattress, which seemed relatively new, or at least preserved in very good condition. She gave the jar of Doxy eggs a fond smile as she stripped her dragon-hide gloves off, thinking how there would be more to add to her potions-kit before the week was out – she was hoping for Ashwinder eggs, and there was bound to be a few unusual strains of magical fungi, and perhaps other magical creatures that had shed quills or claws, she could extract salvia from the Doxies she had harvested and put them to good use in potion-making. And that greenhouse was certain to be a goldmine.

The idea of emptying her things into the chest-of-drawers and the wardrobe made Maia's insides writhe with discomfort – it would make things a little more…_real_. She had to stay here. And it was quite clear that Sirius was about as excited at living her as she was. Well, at least they could be united in their mutual dislike of the place – she glanced around the room, crinkling her nose. And then she sighed; Sirius didn't want to be here either. There was no reason for her to make things worse for him, though – and as his _family_, Maia…wanted to help. She had always looked after Diane, made sure she was happy – Sirius wasn't a person who struck Maia as having experienced any happiness recently. She didn't want to be here – neither did he – but if she made an effort, perhaps they could make things more bearable for each other.

Outside it was blisteringly, almost uncomfortably hot, even as the evening was drawing to a close, and with the curtains removed, the windows open as far as they would go, her new room began to feel different, the hot breeze starting to dry out the damp, sunshine spreading across the dull floors. With the light, and warmth, the room started to feel more cheerful, Maia could certainly see photographs on the mantelpiece, and if she moved a dressing-table from one of the other rooms in, and repainted the walls, it might be nice. She sighed, glancing around. Still dreary, though – she glanced down at the foot of the bed, where her magical trunk had been relocated. Well, at least she had that – if she wanted, she could disappear into her trunk and enjoy a few hours. She would probably end up there tonight, unable to sleep.

To give the impression that she was making the best of things and getting comfortable, Maia retrieved her box-clutch and started pulling a few things out of it, placing her makeup-bag, pyjamas and toothbrush on the chest-of-drawers. She eyed the wardrobe, tugging her dressing-gown and a few tops out of the box-clutch – she usually kept a few changes of clothing and the essentials in there, for impromptu sleepovers at Elsa's or passing out after a gig on Ailith's living-room floor with Tonks. Approaching the wardrobe, she hoped there were a few hangers. It was a pretty enough piece of furniture, a single polished door with an oval-shaped full length mirror, and she yawned before tugging open the door.

Out burst, not a family of mice, or a Puffskein, or a Doxy. It was still a close, humid evening, but ice crashed over her as if she had undertaken the Ice Bucket Challenge, and a tall figure shrouded in a tattered cloak towered to the ceiling, its face completely hidden, but Maia saw, for one brief second, a glistening, grey, scabbed hand. The blistering day had suddenly turned piercingly, bitingly cold, total darkness descending as quickly as the thing had appeared; the fine hairs at the back of her neck stood up, and goose-bumps prickled all over her arms. And then…it started to breathe, the thing, drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Ice penetrated her heart, her lungs, seized everything in its unforgiving grip, she was drowning in the cold, terrified, and she could see…_Diane_… Another rattling breath, Elsa, lying in the hospital covered in bandages…she could _hear_ a young man's heartbroken voice, choked with emotion, was he crying? "_I love you so, so much, poppet… One day, you'll know why I had to. And I hope you can forgive me… I love you, always…_"

She sank further into the icy darkness, where anarchy reined, a lovely drawing-room packed with people—beautiful young women in glittering dress-robes; two handsome men who looked alike despite the age difference—at the elder man's bellow, shouting a curse at the door that slammed shut, something ramming it from the outside, red light blasting around the edges of the door-frame, the younger man with astonishingly sapphire eyes grabbed her under the arms as easily as a ragdoll, dumping her hastily into a blanket-box, his features stark, his face bloodless, his curls shining gold as he forced the lid closed on her after pressing a kiss to her brow; the sound of petrified screams, the hasty shouts of women's curses, light exploding in the sliver where the lid of the blanket-box didn't sit right, then an orchestra of shouts, curses, and the most horrifying, pain-drenched, prolonged screams, whimpers of pain; deep voices, thick and gurgling, issuing their last curses, trying to protect those still untouched, whimpering from pain—their piercing screams made her shudder, hidden in her soft little box, terrified, tears streaming down her face. A low, evil laugh; the sickening sound of something heavy slapping on a wet surface; a snuffling, sucking, squelching sound, grunts and the laughter of wizards, footsteps and then…nothing. For a long time. Nothing, and then, a petrified shout; her name, over and over again, in a deep voice: the sound of running feet, doors opening and closing: sounds of movement close at hand, a staggered step, a gasp being sucked in, the sound of someone trying not to vomit: the click of heels coming close: a deep voice, shaky and throaty, grief-stricken and horrified, startled; "_No—Balian! Don't come—!_" A horrified gasp, a _thump_, there was a guttural moan, and the male voice trying to revive 'Balian'. The voice started again, moaning Maia's name, but she was too tired to answer, couldn't see because something was stinging her eyes, and she had her thumb in her mouth. Light sparkled suddenly, and she squinted, squirming, vivid blue eyes splashing tears on her face as a choked cry of relief escaped a beautiful woman's lips; Maia was wrenched out of the blanket-box, encased in familiar arms, her _mother's_ arms, her fragrant, curling hair creating a shimmering curtain of gold around Maia as she rocked in her mother's arms, quiet as her mother kissed every part of her she could, squeezing her tight, as if she never wanted to let go.

"Is she alright, Balian?" the deep male voice asked hoarsely, close at hand, so close Maia could feel him encircling both her and her mother in a tight, shaky embrace.

"She's absolutely perfect," Balian, her mother, choked tearfully, and fragrant blonde hair tickled Maia's cheek as she sucked her thumb, resting her head against her mother's chest, her mother looking down beside them. Maia peeked, tired and bleary-eyed, but the sapphire-eyed man who had grabbed her and hidden her in the blanket-box gazed back…eyes wide, glassy…something red was shining all over him… With a tiny wet _pop_ she pulled the thumb from her mouth, reaching out her tiny little hand to pet his cheek, "Wack up, Bertie," she said happily. She wanted Uncle Bertie to play with her. The man with Balian scooped Maia up, kissing her many times as her mother sobbed, and, tucking Maia against his front, her face pressed to his chest, standing on unsteady legs, she heard him say, his voice broken, "Remus… _Remus_…" There was the sound of retching, but she was safe and warm in one of Russ' cuddles, she could hear someone sobbing, then something roared, a sound so heartbroken, the sound her heart had made when Diane had died…it was the sound of utmost agony, and made her shiver, as the roar ended on a choked sob and a whimper that made her eyes burn, squirming in Russ' arms, her lip trembling… Everything went dark, and Maia descended further into that abyss, her worse memories catching up to her in the form of nightmares that made her whimper.

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**A.N.**: So this chapter is dedicated to _twin of a sister_, _Luc234 _and _MuggleCreator_ and the rest of you old crowd who are loyal followers of this story! I hope you like the altered details.


	4. Kreacher

**A.N.**: A Valentine's treat, my pets! For everyone who has faithfully reviewed, a new take on Maia's introduction to Kreacher.

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**The Eldest of the Pleiades**

_04_

_Kreacher_

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"Mistress," a deep voice said urgently, and she was aware of someone gently shaking her. Roused into consciousness, Maia moaned and resisted, feeling as if she had come down with a bad case of the flu. She was shuddering with cold, her entire body tensed up, muscles sore, and she was aware that she was curled up on the floor in a tight ball, drenched in cold sweat; it was dark, but it was blistering-hot, and humid, and her eyes were bleary from the tears that burned her cheeks.

"Mistress," said the same hoarse voice again, and she started, gazing blearily around for the young man who had carried her out of a massacre, her mother's sobs echoing in her ears, a young man's roar of anguish echoing in her ears, shards of ice piercing her heart and setting her skin aflame as cold sweat dried scratchily, she felt disoriented and uncomfortable in her own skin, nausea threatening her stomach, something like acid was burning her cheeks, her hair was sticking to her, she blinked sluggishly, eyes bleary, and she sniffed, shuddering as she swallowed the nausea bubbling up her throat, as someone gently propped her into a sitting position; she listed to the side and found herself leaning against the side of the bed. The men with Balian, her _mother_, she recognised his voice, still as hoarse and haunted after all this time… She wondered where she was, blinking slowly, and something burning rolled down her scratchy cheeks, a threadbare carpet and something caught her eye, but she couldn't bring herself to move her head, refocus her gaze…she felt hollow, deadened inside… A _Dementor_. She shivered violently, as something small shuffled around her anxiously.

"Mistress?" the voice croaked, and Maia was aware someone was petting her hair. "There, there, Mistress… Kreacher is here… The nasty Boggart cannot harm the little mistress, Kreacher took care of it." Hot tears leaked from her eyes, a copper taste in her mouth as her lips trembled, still shivering violently, and she registered that the windows were dark… How long had she been unconscious? It couldn't have been a Dementor. Not here, they couldn't have found Sirius… It had come from the wardrobe… A Boggart. But of course it had taken the form of a Dementor. She barely managed to process coherent thought as she tried not to remember what she had seen, inside her head, a vision of her past long-buried in her mind. A Boggart in the form of a Dementor had forced her to remember the sound of her father crying as he said goodbye for the last time; to see her mother…and the handsome young uncle she'd thought she had _no_ memory of, let alone…

She turned her head ever so slightly, and a very ancient and very filthy house-elf came into view, peering anxiously at her, still petting her hair. He was so old his skin draped off him as if it was several sizes too big, and though he was bald like all house-elves, a profusion of hair sprouted from both ears; he had the same snout-like nose as the house-elf heads on the wall. Even disregarding the filthy loincloth he was a frightful sight, but Maia didn't have the energy to feel disgust or shock at the state of him, or heartbroken that he had been reduced to such a state. Finally, she managed to whisper, "Thank you, Kreacher."

"There, there, Mistress," he croaked, his voice deep like a bullfrog's. She was used to the high squeaking of Dashy, Snodgrass and the others. Emotionally broken, Maia sagged against the side of the bed for who knew how long, the filthy house-elf gently petting her hair, as tears slowly leaked down her cheeks. "Come, Mistress… Kreacher will take care of the young mistress…"

Quaking and violently nauseous, her eyes burning, she staggered to her feet, her legs shaking as if she had been jinxed, and managed to clamber after Kreacher, feeling as if she had the mother of all hangovers, combined with the flu. Her family's death-cries echoed in her ears, and she resented them that, that their screams of pain pushed aside the only memory she had of her_ father_. He had sounded…so _young_. Kreacher pushed the kitchen-door open, and conversation petered out as she squinted in the bright lamplight, after the miserable gloom upstairs shuffling in through the doorway.

"Maia?"

"What happened?"

"_What did you do to her_?" a voice demanded aggressively, and Maia blinked, swallowing the nausea bubbling up her throat, focusing on the slim dark shadow nearby.

"L-leave him alone," she half-whispered, struggling. She felt as if she had run a marathon on the worst hangover in history.

"Maia, what's happened?" a gentle, warm voice asked, and Maia shivered, tears leaking from her eyes; suddenly she had a clearer field of vision.

"'Twas a Boggart," said a deep bullfrog croak, "in the wardrobe."

"You look _awful_," Ailith said gently. Maia, wiping the back of her hand against her cheeks, glanced up and noted that only she, Remus and Sirius remained in the kitchen; the rest of the Order had disappeared. Ailith's notebooks were spread out on the table with scrolls Remus was hastily rolling up. With a soft sigh, Ailith asked, "What form did it take, Maia?"

The very thing Maia had been afraid of the last few years had happened; and Ailith knew Maia had always been terrified that Diane's life would be snuffed out, like a candle allowed to burn too long. So what could now frighten Maia?

"Dementor," she murmured, her eyes burning again; she saw Remus reach for a small tin on the mantelpiece above the range, and her lip trembled, tears leaking, and she choked, "I heard my dad. Saying goodbye… Heard…the others. Fighting. I heard them dying, and…my uncle Bertie's _face_…"

There was a loud clatter, metal ringing against flagstones, and Maia jumped, shedding tears as she glanced at Remus. All colour had fled his face, white as a sheet, his cheekbones popping, looking as skeletal as his best-friend, the shaken expression in his eyes harrowing, staring straight at Maia. Beautifully-wrapped bars of expensive chocolate littered the floor at his feet; Sirius was suddenly standing, quietly collecting the bars, Remus staring down at them as if wondering how they had got there.

"You're Balian's little baby," Sirius breathed, ever so subtly squeezing his old friend's shoulder as he placed several chocolate-bars back into the tin now in Remus' hands. He looked…horror-struck, Maia thought _she_ had been hit bad by the Dementor, but Remus' reaction to _her_, well… She got the feeling he knew more about her own memories than she did – and she had heard Sirius, his voice younger, full of warmth but broken, shouting his name… Curious, she didn't press. She didn't look into her family's murders and she knew others would appreciate not having their worst memories turned over by someone who couldn't appreciate the pain.

Ailith approached Maia as one might an injured, cornered tiger; she didn't fuss or smother, which was why Maia loved her so much. Ailith was unflappable, with an innate sense of grace, the ability to transcend a situation – but Maia knew her temper rivalled Maia's own if she was set off. She had picked up a bar of chocolate that had tumbled toward her on the flagstones, plying Maia with it. "Just one little square, Maia," she coaxed gently. "It'll do you the world of good." Wet-eyed, Maia stared down at the bar of chocolate broken into delicate triangles, a pattern imprinted into the chocolate. The idea of food, of eating, felt, as it had for weeks now, an arduous task, every attempt to eat filling her mouth with the imagined taste of ash, the memories of Diane's almost indecent enthusiasm for food and for cakes echoing in her mind, making it impossible to swallow anything.

With a sigh, Ailith gave up trying to make Maia eat the chocolate – she took a shining copper saucepan from the wall and started melting the chocolate over a bain-marie, whisking milk into it to make frothing, fragrant hot chocolate. This, she poured into four glasses, adding an extra dollop to Remus's – he looked as shocked and nauseated as Maia felt, and she climbed into a chair at the table, wondering firstly where Dashy was, and why the others had left. Ailith squeezed Maia's hand gently as she set the glass of hot-chocolate in front of her, but didn't fuss, didn't force her to drink it.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, fiddling with the handle of the glass cup.

"Gone," Sirius said heavily, looking miserable. Remus sat down, looking severely shaken. "The meeting ended about half an hour ago."

"And Dashy?"

"She mentioned something about 'reinforcements'," Sirius said, giving her a peculiar look. Ailith sat down beside him, picking up the long and slender, very beautiful lacquered fountain-pen Maia had bought for her in Japan, paired with a legitimate kabuki brush, for Ailith's birthday. With a pattern of phoenixes, lotuses and a pretty, floral-inspired almost geometric pattern, Maia had seen the colours and known it had been made specifically for Ailith. As a journalist, Ailith was a snob about her pens – she disdained quills as messy and obsolete. Unconsciously, Maia reached for the hot-chocolate, sipping it as she observed Ailith uncapping the pen, frowning gently at what she had written in her notebook.

"Are you writing another article?" she asked, breathing a sigh of relief as she glanced into her glass. Her entire body felt more relaxed, the chill had disappeared, replaced by a sweltering awareness of the sticky heat. She was still tired, and very hungry, but that was more from her recent habits than the Boggart-Dementor. Dwelling on the Dementor's influence, and the lingering side-effects of prolonged exposure on her uncle, Maia took a larger gulp of the hot-chocolate, and glanced at Ailith.

"Just writing some notes – Sirius has agreed to let me interview him," Ailith said, giving him a warm smile.

"Cuffe won't print it," Maia said flatly. "He only cares about selling copies of the _Prophet_, not about actually telling the world what's really going on."

"I'm working on Cuffe," Ailith said delicately, twitching the pages of her notebook. "Dumbledore's told me Fudge knows about the night Sirius' innocence came to light. I just have to wait, can't you imagine the hype, 'Sirius Black, Innocent', especially when the public hears Fudge knew and hid the truth."

"You wait for the opportune moment," Maia said softly, and Ailith shot her a warm smile, chuckling. They had watched a lot of Muggle films and TV together, Ailith's flat boasting a television, the better to keep up with her mother's obsession with _Call the Midwife_, and _Pirates of the Caribbean_ was a favourite.

"Precisely," Ailith smiled. Maia took a gulp of hot-chocolate, her cheeks pouched like a gerbil's, and swept her tongue across her teeth as she sighed.

"I still think you should start your own paper," Maia said petulantly, frowning at Ailith. Her beautiful, serene older friend was very clever, incredibly intuitive, tenacious but succinct and never cruel; she had a talent with words that could be put to extraordinary uses, but people like Rita Skeeter caused a scandal and that was what the voracious readers of Wizard Britain wanted – _gossip_.

"I don't have the money or the staff," Ailith smiled, still observing her notes.

"I told you, I'd pay you," Maia said, suddenly flashing a lecherous smile, wiggling her eyebrows, and Ailith chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"Mm, but to do what?" she flirted back, laughing richly. "Anyway, I submit articles to _The Talon_ every fortnight, don't I?"

"You do, and I appreciate them," Maia said, smiling tiredly. Her eyes and cheeks were heavy and scratchy, she was aware that cold sweat had dried all over her skin – combined with the workout she'd got from tending the vegetable garden earlier (had that only been this afternoon), acutely aware now that she was on a par with her Azkaban-escapee uncle in terms of personal hygiene, and he had been living off rats sleeping in _caves_, she just really wanted to go and have a long bath. And, for the first time in weeks, her stomach had decided to make a fuss about being hungry – rather, her brain was receiving the messages properly that her stomach was empty, and had been for hours.

"What's _The Talon_? I've never heard of it?" Sirius asked, glancing at Remus, who shrugged a shoulder, both glancing at Maia. Across the table, Ailith gave her a smug little smile that said she was glad the two had asked Maia about _The Talon_; if Maia thought Ailith should edit her own newspaper, Ailith wondered why Maia didn't promote _The Talon_ to a wider audience. She was so exceptionally proud of it, though, that Maia wasn't annoyed Ailith had brought it up. She took a drink of hot-chocolate.

"Two years ago, Elsa invited me to go with her when she went to visit her family in America – her father's Muggle brother married an American witch, and they've got a bunch of children," Maia smiled warmly. "Anyway, they're obsessional with Muggle culture, thanks to their mum, who's _obsessed_, and they wanted to know more about our, English, wizard culture. Their friends wanted to know more about Muggle culture too, because ours is different to American pop-culture. And Elsa and I have always disdained _Witch Weekly_, there are no magazines aimed at teenaged and young-adult witches and wizards that can help us assimilate with Muggles, teaching us about their culture – films, music, history, literature, fashion, that sort of thing. The fun bits. Things that are actually relevant – like Prince George being born; and the hundredth anniversary of the start of World War One, and who won _Great British Bake-Off_ and the next regeneration of the Doctor, and if you're Team Gale, and what makeup looks are _in_ _vogue_. And Elsa has a pureblood cousin who's never heard of _Monopoly_…it's a board-game. If you pick up a book in _Flourish &amp; Blott's_ Muggle Studies section, the tone of some of the books, it's like they believe Muggles are no better than Muggles think _gorillas_ are in a zoo…

"Anyway, Elsa and I have always been in a unique position to actually explore Muggle culture. So I thought, as a bit of fun, we could start a magazine. It started as just something we used to play at, to keep us entertained in the evenings while we were hanging out with Elsa's cousins, but then we all really loved it: Elsa's cousins send articles from America, and her sisters write things about what they're studying at Hogwarts. We do reviews of literature, and music – Wizard and Muggle – and television shows and films, and they write about Quidditch and Wizard gossip and politics. We write articles on dress and the postal-service, on money and nonsense-stories, and comic-strips, and essays on potions and particular events in History we should all know about."

"You started a magazine?" Sirius said, his lips twitching.

"It's not glossy or anything," Maia warned him. "It's quite homemade, well, at least, the first few were, the ones we put together on that holiday. But we're all enthusiastic about it. We've lost a few contributors to full-time employment, but honestly I don't think that should have stopped them sending an article at least once a month! It gives us all a creative outlet, and it helped Elsa's sister revise for exams because she writes the most articles about educational things. She struggles with Charms, so she'll write articles about different spells she's practicing because it gives her a better understanding of them. I pay Sluggy in crystallised pineapple to submit something about potions… I'm surprised P.D. hasn't invited old Sluggy to join the Order," Maia added quietly, stretching her shoulders and her back with a small groan, feeling exhausted and still miserable, despite the chocolate.

"Sluggy? You don't mean Horace Slughorn? God, he's not still about, is he? I thought _Snape_ was teaching Potions at Hogwarts," Sirius said, glancing at Remus, who was considering the contents of his cup, and didn't respond.

"He retired a while ago," Ailith sighed, looking glum. "He had his flaws but he was good fun. His dinner-parties weren't as stodgy as everyone thought – his Christmas parties were wonderful; he knew how to entertain. Then we got Snape." Ailith's lips twitched, and Sirius smirked.

"When were you at Hogwarts, then?" he asked, eyeing the beautiful Ailith interestedly. Ailith smiled mysteriously.

"You don't remember me, do you?" she said softly, and Sirius' eyebrows rose, looking surprised, shrugging. "In my first week at school, you and the Head Boy got me out of a scrape with a suit of armour, Peeves and a cauldron of dragon-dung, pumpkin-soup and flobberworms." Sirius blinked, and all of a sudden, recognition lit his face like a beacon, a rich grin startling Maia, and he gave a bark-like laugh.

"That was – _you_ are _her_?" he chuckled richly. He laughed outright, and for the first time, Maia could see the handsome young-man he had once been, laughter-lines fanning richly from his pale, pretty eyes. "_Aw_! Aha! Of course I remember you – you used to go by 'Lee', though!"

"People could pronounce that," Ailith said, rolling her eyes with a warm smile. The Head Boy, Sirius' best-friend and the deceased father of legendary Harry Potter, had been kind, messy-haired and smiling when they had freed her from the cauldron, in tears – he had shepherded her back to the dormitory for a bath, and his handsome friend, Sirius of the lazy grin and broad shoulders, had offered her a Chocolate Frog when they had escorted to her next class. He'd bantered with the good-looking and fun professor of Defence everyone had fallen in love with. Every time they had seen Ailith, Sirius had rumpled her hair, laughing when she squealed in delighted annoyance – god, had she loved those three, Sirius Black, James Potter, and the quiet, wonderful prefect Remus who always had chocolate on him and was prone to offering a hankie if he saw people were upset. "Anyway, I'm sure Dumbledore has invited Slughorn to join."

"Mm. Thinking on it, I'm not surprised Sluggy is reluctant to join," Maia mused. "He's always been rather ambivalent about his political views – he has…my father's photograph on his wall, alongside Lily Evans'."

"What's that?"

"Slughorn keeps photographs of his favourites, the ones in his Slug Club," Maia said, rolling her eyes subtly, though her lips moved toward a twitch. "Lily Evans' photo is right at the front, but when you broke out of Azkaban, he liked to talk about you when he came over for dinner. Told me all about you when you were at school, said my mischievous streak reminded him of you, he…told me about…your brother, how he felt 'cheated out of the full set', after having all your cousins in his House. Never realising that he was telling me about…my father." Maia sighed softly, feeling something pressing on her chest, and her shoulders slumped; she folded her arms on the table in front of her, tucking her chin down, and stared miserably at the wood-grain of the scrubbed table. "P.D. probably hasn't offered Sluggy the right incentive to put his particular talents to the Order's cause."

"And what would that be?" Ailith asked thoughtfully.

Maia glanced up from her folded arms, saying quietly, "Harry Potter. Slughorn loves collecting powerful, influential people. He _loved_ Diane for her connections, he likes me for my abilities and my looks–" she rolled her eyes impatiently, "but _Harry Potter_. He would be the jewel in Slughorn's collection."

"He's not changed, then," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Sluggy wanted us in his club, remember, Remus? He got Lily, and Tisiphone too." Maia glanced up.

"Tisiphone? Do you – you don't mean my aunt?" she breathed, excitement blossoming in her chest. She raised her chin off her arms, giving him a breathless smile as Sirius nodded. "Septimus used to tell me about her."

"She was a _cracker_, Tisiphone," Sirius grinned enthusiastically, but the smile soon leached from his face as he observed Maia, and he sighed softly. "She'd have loved a jinxed pineapple upside-down cake, I can tell you that much. She got into…_nearly_ as much trouble as we did at school – of course, having the Minister of Magic for your dad, people tended to turn a blind eye. Unless you got caught _in flagrante delicto_ behind a tapestry at one a.m. Then, McGonagall writes a strongly-worded letter to the Minister's wife. Right, Remus?" Maia glanced quickly at Remus, who had lifted his hot-chocolate to his lips. Suddenly, his eyes were sparkling, the tiniest ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. Maia grinned.

"I don't know what you mean, Padfoot," Remus said delicately, and Maia snickered. She had seen photographs of Tisiphone; if she had thought her mother beautiful, she was comely compared to Tisiphone – apparently, the two had been paired; Tisiphone and Balian, and their sisters Aspasia and Margaid. All four sisters had been heartbreakingly beautiful in their photographs, and Slughorn had once told Maia they were fiercely loved by everyone who had ever had the privilege of knowing them. Tisiphone and Balian had been the bold, beautiful imps; Aspasia and Margaid younger, gentler; but Margaid had had a wickedly developed sense of humour, and a talent as a mimic. She didn't know much about her aunts, but glancing at Remus made her wonder…they had been her age, and older, during the War. Balian had had Maia; but there had never been a whisper about Maia's father. What about her aunts, had they been one half of epic tragedies, romances cut short that terrible night?

By the look on Remus' face later in the evening, the way he kept staring into nothing as Sirius and Ailith talked, Ailith hastily scribbling notes with the enamelled fountain-pen Maia had gifted her, Maia wondered just how wonderful her aunts had truly been, if even one of them evinced this reaction from Remus fifteen years after their deaths.

Out of the corner of her ear, she listened to Ailith gently prompting as he talked about his escape and being on the run, and most importantly _why_ he had broken out of Azkaban. Remus added details when asked, but like Maia, he kept his gaze on the table-top as if mesmerised by the wood-grain. Miserable and tired, Maia desperately wanted to go for a bath, or anything. She was becoming listless in this kitchen, shivering with disgust at the grime that would await her upstairs. She could have been jogging through the Shire now – Dumbledore could have asked Maia to harbour her fugitive uncle in any one of the empty buildings in the ghost village; the Order could have set up headquarters in one of the old Ministry buildings, it was about time they were put to good use. But no; Dumbledore had decided this was the best place for Sirius to hide and for the Order to congregate; central London was of course the best place, when half the Order worked at the Ministry, hidden by magic deep beneath the bowels of the London Underground.

But it wasn't healthy here. It was no wonder Kreacher had been reduced to the state he was in; this house was miserable, and he had been alone. Sitting fiddling despondently with one of Ailith's unsmoked cigarettes, she wondered why Kreacher hadn't sought out the last remaining members of the Black family. If her grandmother had known about Maia through that jewelled egg, surely she would have mentioned something to Kreacher – and Kreacher wouldn't be prevented from seeking out Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black. She was the only other Black whose name had not been blasted off the tapestry, who wasn't in Azkaban.

Maia was very glad her paternal grandmother was dead: she might just have murdered her over the state of Kreacher if they'd ever met.

"Was Kreacher always…like…that?" Maia asked quietly, glancing up at Sirius. Her eyes were so scratchy, she was so _tired_. She might actually sleep tonight. She had a few bottles of Dreamless Sleep Draught she had made, stored away safely in her stock-room.

"What, filthy and dressed in a loin-cloth?" Sirius said, his lip curling slightly. Maia frowned mildly at him. "No. Time's not been decent to him."

"So when your mother died, this place and Kreacher were left to you?" Maia asked.

"Traditionally the house and the Gringotts vault pass to the eldest male," Sirius said, with superb indifference. Maia nodded silently, tapping the end of the cigarette against the table.

"Do you think your mother might have been proud of you, even though it was all untrue, that you were Voldemort's greatest servant, that you gave him the Potters?" she asked quietly. Sirius blinked.

"I… I have _no_ idea – I've never even thought about it that way," he said, looking startled.

"It might explain why she left the house to you," Maia mused to herself. She glanced up at Sirius with a weary sigh. "She probably expected Voldemort to return at some point, and for him to reward you by breaking you out to help him take over." She shrugged; she had no idea what her grandmother had been thinking, leaving her home to the son she had written off years before. But if she had thought Sirius was a Death Eater, dedicated to the eradication of Muggle-borns and inferior wizards, blood-traitors and part-humans, perhaps she had reconciled his rebellious adolescence.

And Maia's father had been dead for years. Walburga Black had never met Maia, something Maia was thankful for – she was grateful to Septimus and Diane all over again, for raising her well. She sighed and glanced around; the only person alive to know would be Kreacher.

"Why wouldn't Kreacher go and find another Black relative to serve?" she asked quietly. "Your cousin Narcissa, or me? I'm on the tapestry. He could've even gone to one of Walburga's friends she was particularly loyal to… Diane inherited a house-elf that way, one of her friends died without family, but house-elves can recognise deep bonds that transcend blood… So Tootles came to live with us."

"You'd have to ask Kreacher," Sirius shrugged unconcernedly. "He's been here longer than I've been alive, that might've had something to do with it; this is home."

"And a right state he's let it come to," Maia sighed heavily. Although, she could sympathise; he had lost the people he loved best in the world, Maia's grandmother, and probably her father as well. And he had been made what he was by them; they had shown no love for the runaway Sirius, so why would Kreacher emulate anything else but their views? House-elves, while they had their own peculiar, powerful magic, were apt to simplifying matters, often taking a sometimes childlike view on things like loyalty. Like small children, they were loyal to whoever was kind to them. But given how she was feeling lately, not showering, unable to eat, not sleeping, she could imagine how Kreacher had let things go when his beloved mistress had died. It had to have been a shock – and then, to realise there was no-one left, no family, the only person he was bound to locked in the wizard prison until death. "Where is Kreacher, anyway?"

"He's probably in his nest," Sirius said, indicating a door with a nod of his head, and a disdainful crinkle of his nose. Lethargically, Maia pulled herself out of her chair and slumped around the table to the door; a small room featured an old-fashioned boiler, with a nest of filthy blankets tucked at the foot of it. Maia blinked, processing what she was seeing, and felt her heart slip. It wasn't Kreacher's fault, he hadn't had anyone to look after him the way she and Dashy had each other, she could understand why he had let the house go to waste, and isolated for a decade she could sympathise with his complete lack of personal hygiene.

But if she was his mistress now – if he preferred to answer to _her_ rather than Sirius – she would put an end to his miserable existence. If she had to, she'd ask him to help Flox, Snodgrass and Tootles at the village, just for a bit of socialisation. Slowly, she closed the door, frowning.

Her, Sirius, Kreacher. What an abysmal trio. They were all as bad as each other.

Seeing the state of Kreacher's "room", the anticipation of having to go up to that grubby bedroom upstairs to sleep, her irritation over being forced to stay here – that they were _all_ forced to stay here! – made her itchy, and she was becoming listless. She wanted to disappear into her workshop to tinker with her cosmetics, or go through her magic textbooks, or write a letter to Elsa explaining what was going on. She wanted to work on her projects – the pocket-wireless she was developing; her Muggle-wizard history book; the _Talon_ \- or take a bath.

She frowned, glancing at the adults sat round the table. "Where's Bill?"

"Oh, he's gone to the Burrow, to help his mother and father set up some protection," Sirius said, glancing over his shoulder at Maia.

"I thought they were bringing their children here," Maia said, with a crinkle of her nose.

"Well, Molly would rather be safe than sorry," Sirius said, with a subtle roll of his eyes. "She and Arthur will still be living at the Burrow, after all."

"She's afraid Pettigrew will try to seek revenge, go after her family because Harry's so friendly with them?" Maia asked, and Sirius gave her a curious little smile.

"That's right," he said softly. "Since he lived with the Weasley family for twelve years, he'll know exactly how to get to them."

"Well, I wouldn't like to go up against whatever protection Bill sets up, he learned all the good stuff in the tombs," Maia said quietly. "He taught me _loads_."

"You know enough already without taking a book out of the ancient Egyptians' library," Ailith said ominously.

"And the best part is, the ancient spells can't be banned as Dark or anything, because the context of their usage makes classification irrelevant," Maia said, with a subtle smirk. "I'd never use those curses on anyone though – except perhaps Dolohov," she added, with a soft growl, feel itchy all over for a different reason, anger pricking her skin. She let out a soft sigh, and glanced at Remus, Sirius, at Ailith's hand flowing unbroken across the pages of her notebook. "If it's alright, I'm going to go and have a bath."

"Alright," Sirius nodded. "Don't use any of the old bottles in any of the bathrooms, we still haven't chucked them but they're probably nasty." Maia swallowed a noise of interest and nodded; she would be collecting those later for examination.

"If you've disappeared for longer than an hour, I'm coming up to check you've not drowned yourself," Ailith warned, glancing up from her notebook, giving Maia a concerned frown, before turning back to her notes. Rolling her eyes in mild amusement, Maia traipsed upstairs, dodging the bolt-spitting grandfather-clock, and came up short as she reached her new bedroom.

It was _spotless_.

A tiny elf with oversized skin draped over his tiny bony body was on his knees, busy scrubbing out the grate in the fireplace, but everything else was pristine, the ancient wax removed from the sconces, the cobwebs removed from the chandelier, which was glowing brightly; the wardrobe stood wide-open and shining from a fresh polish, the bed-frame had been polished and the sheets were pristine, white, neatly pressed and inviting, an eiderdown draped over the bottom of the bed with a few blankets, the walls had been scrubbed and glimmered softly, the windows were spotless.

"Kreacher?" she frowned, bemused. The ancient elf jumped, scampering to his feet quickly. He had a vast quantity of ash on his snout-like nose, but his expression seemed to transcend the grime, he looked…_elated_. "Have you been up here cleaning this whole time?"

"Kreacher will tend to the rest of the house later, Mistress," he said, in his deep bullfrog voice, bowing low.

"Please don't bow," Maia winced; she hated that. It had taken a long time to break Tootles' habit of doing it, but Dashy still curtsied to strangers out of politeness. Kreacher's back snapped ramrod straight. She sighed softly, eyeing the pitiful elf. "Kreacher, I saw that nest you sleep in. I don't want you to sleep like that anymore. Tomorrow we'll sort out a bedroom for you." She knew she wasn't allowed to free Kreacher; Sirius had warned her he already knew too much. "And we'll sort out something for you to wear." For a second, it looked like Kreacher wanted to bow to her, but he caught himself, so he looked like an elf version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

"Kreacher will make himself presentable for the little Mistress," he promised. "Kreacher shall not rest until the house is fit for her to live in."

"Kreacher, I don't want you to go without rest," Maia chided softly; she knew sometimes house-elves could be quite literal. "And you won't have to do all the work; Dashy – I don't know if you've seen her, she's the house-elf who lives with me – she's probably rallying the other elves who live on my estate to come and help. And Sirius and I will pitch in." She didn't like sitting around while Dashy and the others scrubbed; it wasn't right. "And that grate doesn't need scrubbing, it's far too hot – why don't you go and have a bath, and rest? I'll be going to bed soon, too."

"As the little Mistress desires," Kreacher croaked, catching himself halfway into a bow.

"Go on," Maia smiled sadly, indicating the door. "Kreacher," she called, remembering herself, when he had reached the hall. She frowned. "Did Sirius' mother change her opinion of him, when she thought he was Voldemort's right-hand?" Kreacher went pale, his knees trembling at the name.

"My Mistress… My mistress… Mistress Black believed him a vile brat who broke her heart – but he showed his true pride," Kreacher said, and Maia sighed softly, her shoulders slumping.

"Well, I'm sorry that she was misinformed – you know Sirius is innocent, don't you? He never murdered those people? And he'd never have betrayed his friends," Maia said, frowning. She pursed her lips, observing Kreacher, then sighed, "Kreacher, I don't know how you and Sirius were when he still lived here, but he's very unhappy having to come back. And he's suffered too much, imprisoned with Dementors longer than you've been alone. I'd like for you to help me get him better." The smile almost faltered from his face, but Kreacher again caught himself mid-bow.

"Kreacher remembers the young Master Sirius as a boy, he and Kreacher were bosom-friends," Kreacher said, his tiny chest swelling proudly. "Always called for Kreacher, he did, when it was bath-time or he was sickening. Kreacher could soothe him when his mother failed. Kreacher knows what to do." He caught himself mid-bow again, and ducked out of sight, closing the door gently behind him. Maia exhaled a breath. Well, she didn't find him unpleasant – but she supposed there wasn't the association that Sirius had with Kreacher, with this house and the memories he loathed. She wondered how often he relived his most horrible memories from living here, with a family he was so different from.

She sighed, glanced around the now-spotless but still alien room, the windows shoved open as far as they could go to let some of the warmth in to get rid of the musty smell – now completely gone, through some magic of Kreacher's – and flicked her wand idly. Something large, and the bluest-blue ever took the place of the battered old trunk at the foot of her bed, and without even looking she gave her fingers a sharp _snap_, and a beam of golden light appeared as one of the doors opened inwards.

In the bathroom, she filled the scroll-top copper tub with scalding water and mused over the bottles and tubs of salts, serums and powders, adding her favourites to the water. Soon, the silver-papered room with the mirrored wall, pretty settee backing a marble-topped many-drawered cabinet, delicate little glass tables, a stunning Art Deco glass lamp that tinkled whenever a breeze sifted past it, an archway to a room full of built-in wardrobes, and a glorious chandelier, a geometric rug and little trinkets was filled with fragrant steam that whorled and sparkled in the air like intangible phosphorescence, the surface of the water mounded with foot-high bubbles that neighed and cantered like hippocampi and splashed and sang like merpeople and sparkled and shone opalescent, pirate-ships emerging from the foam, and as she slipped into the water, bubbling gently like a Jacuzzi, the water itself started massaging her skin clean, exfoliating, soaking up moisture; she piled her hair onto her head with an enriching serum-mask and sank into the water up to her nostrils, dozing peacefully in the deep water, idly watching the bubbles enact scenes of make-believe and mischief that she had charmed them to. Everything she had poured into the water, used on her hair and body had been invented by Maia herself, having fun with cosmetics and bubble-baths and things like that for years, most of the time to make Elsa smile when she was ill.

The bubble-bath was exactly what she had needed, and Maia fell happily into a doze, the soft scent of violets, aniseed and freesias enveloping her in a fragrant cocoon, something magical soothing her aching heart as she inhaled deeply, the glittering, opalescent bubbles shimmering as her eyes sifted out of focus. She could happily have fallen asleep – and she did, for a few minutes, before she inhaled a quantity of bubbles and shot upright, trying to get rid of them. Groaning, she rinsed the serum out of her hair, rubbing conditioner through the length of her hair and yawned, eyeing her nails. The polish was badly chipped, and she wrinkled her nose; like Elsa, one of her few vanities were her nails. She reached for a delicate little glass bottle with a pretty stopper on the ledge that ran the length of the wall, absolutely stuffed with bottles and pots, and added a drop of the liquid to her bath, then submerging her hands. The dark, chipped polish simply melted away into nothingness beneath the water.

She was towelling off, her hair wrapped up in a steaming turban, when she heard the doorbell. She groaned, slipped her fluffy dressing-gown on, and padded through to the front-door. She glanced at the enormous round mirror beside the narrow white double-doors and rolled her eyes, pulling the door open. Dashy stood there, looking a little annoyed.

"They said you'd probably run away, they couldn't find you," she admonished without preamble, and Maia yawned widely in response. Dashy tutted. "We're having dinner, Flox caught a few fishies. They should do you good after starving yourself, you need the protein." Again, Maia rolled her eyes, but she obediently pulled on a pair of clean pyjamas, dropped the turban from her head and hung it on the coat-rack, her hair falling in silky natural curls almost to her waist, and followed Dashy downstairs.

"Where's Flox?" Maia had been expecting the earthy, outdoorsy house-elf to be down in the kitchen.

"He's still in the Shire," Dashy said, as she prepared the spotted plaice on the kitchen table. Sirius was eyeing them warily.

"Oh," Maia said, a little disappointed; nobody cooked fish the way Flox did, he did something truly amazing with the roe, cheeks, livers and gullet, he used to feed them to Maia, dredged in flour and fried, as treats, never knowing what they were. The table already set for dinner, Maia watched Dashy efficiently boil the new potatoes, steam some purple-sprouting broccoli and fry the plaice to perfection, even skinning and deboning the fishes before putting them back together, serving them drizzled with browned-butter, lemon and capers. While her talents truly lay in cooking flavoursome foreign foods like curries, Dashy was known for her simple, colourful and very flavourful meals.

"Hands washed, Mr Black, Mr Lupin – Ailith, have you been refilling your ink cartridges _again_?" Dashy admonished, as the two grown men slumped to the enormous kitchen sink, dishes of steamed purple broccoli and fresh minted new potatoes drifted to the table, setting themselves down with a soft thunk.

"Kreacher might join us," Maia said, eyeing the boiler-room door, and Dashy made a noise of acknowledgement at the range, nodding. But Kreacher didn't appear – and Maia slipped off to bed an hour later, barely able to keep her eyes open. The last few weeks, and a Dementor-Boggart ambush, had caught up with her. Dubiously eyeing the double-bed in her new room, she nevertheless climbed in between the sheets, and raised her eyebrows in surprise; someone – she believed it was Kreacher – had set a warming-pan between the sheets, and though they certainly wouldn't need it in the weeks to come as the heat-wave continued, drying out and warming the house itself, Maia enjoyed the novelty, and slipped into a deep sleep, exhausted.

* * *

**A.N.**: Don't say I never give you lot anything!


	5. Free Elves

**A.N.**: I enjoy rewriting _Pleiades_, it's more what I wanted the story to be when I started it. Third time's the charm!

* * *

**The Eldest of the Pleiades**

_05_

_Free Elves_

* * *

"We seem to have been inundated by a small contingent of house-elves," a hoarse voice said, and Maia peeked an eye over the top of the eiderdown. Intense sunlight splashing across the pillow had woken her half an hour ago, warmth cocooning her until it was almost uncomfortable – but she had slept through the night for the first time in weeks, and didn't want to have to leave the warm, clean bed and pad through the grimy house to the kitchen, even for her first cup of tea. Traditionally, she made the first pot of the day, and work could not begin until that first cup had been drunk, and breakfast eaten.

She sighed, stretching luxuriously, pulling the duvet down from her face. Sirius, a slim dark shadow with long hair in need of a trim and a few reviving serum-masks, indicated a cup and saucer in his hand, before setting it on her bedside table. She yawned, groaned and sat up, reaching for it.

"Thank you. Did she bring _all_ of them?" she asked, then rolled her eyes when Sirius nodded uncertainly.

"All except one named Flox, apparently he's shoeing some hippogriffs today," he said, looking perplexed. Maia rubbed her face, squinting in the sunlight.

"Alright," she sighed, "I'll sort them out. They really needn't have come, Kreacher and I have had a chat."

"So _that's_ what's inspired the Pygmalion change in him," Sirius tutted, and Maia shot him a look. "Come on down and see." She was still cocooned in the eiderdown, hadn't even had any tea – she sipped it, and sighed, relieved. She shifted out of bed, reluctantly, and tugged on a silky kimono, padding after Sirius in her slippers, dodging the spitting grandfather-clock. As soon as she left her room she could feel the change in the rest of the house – it seemed to be _breathing_ again, gasping for the sunshine and warmth pouring through the wide-open windows, aided by fires crackling merrily in each grate. Ancient carpets had been torn up, the beautiful parquet floors sweeping themselves; grimy age-blackened portraits had been prised off the walls, and everywhere Maia looked, the chandeliers glittered, candelabras had been polished, the ancient dusty wax removed. The scent of polish lay heavily on the air, mingled with the natural perfume of wildflowers in vases scattered about the house. No change was as startling as that which had overcome Kreacher; he was freshly bathed, wearing a pressed white pillowcase like a toga, and his ear-hair was now as white and fluffy as cotton-wool.

Remus was there, sitting at the table, already dressed. He was going through piles of papers and books with cracked, aged spines, looking decidedly cheerless.

"Good morning, Mistress Maia," Kreacher croaked, beaming at her.

"Morning, Kreacher. Morning, Remus."

"Kreacher assumes the other elves belong to Mistress Maia, though Kreacher wonders why they wear clothes," he said, frowning bemusedly at Maia.

"They're free elves, Kreacher," she explained, "but they are under my employ, yes. They're not putting you out, are they?"

"Kreacher did much of the work during the night, Mistress," Kreacher croaked, slicing bread deftly as he snapped his fingers, streaky bacon sizzling softly on the range while eggs cracked themselves into a glass dish, the pepper grinder hovering over it. "Though he does appreciate the help. We shall have this house fit for royalty, Mistress."

"Lovely," Maia said lightly, slipping onto her chair. She sighed. "Are the others upstairs?"

"Scattered throughout, Mistress – Kreacher was helping the elf called Tootles, though Kreacher suspects he was making eyes at his mistress's old hat-pins," Kreacher said, with a stern frown. "Kreacher wonders at any elf who wears clothes so proudly."

"He's proud to wear clothes because I'm proud to see him wear them," Maia said lightly. "All of the elves under my employ are free elves, they aren't bound to me by anything but affection – Tootles' natty dress-sense comes from his appreciation of his dead master, I really wish I'd known him! The wizard left Tootles all his bowties and pocket-squares, he has a sumptuous collection. And don't worry about the hat-pins, Tootles isn't a thief. He just admires lovely things."

"I must say, they were all highly fashionable," Sirius said, glancing up at the ceiling, as if he could see through it to the house-elves working away on the upper-levels. "I've rarely seen wizards put in so much effort. Boutonnières and pocket-squares, I ask you?! And did I see one of them wearing a gold watch-chain?"

"You did – Snodgrass is very fond of his watch," Maia said warmly. "Septimus left it to him, he knew Snodgrass always admired it. Well, I'll have to have a word with them in a bit, this is overtime, Dashy shouldn't have asked them to come." She set her teacup down, and smiled as Kreacher set a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs in front of her and Remus with a snap of his fingers. "What are you working on, Remus?"

"Just re-familiarising myself with Wizengamot legislation," Remus sighed, closing his book heavily, rubbing his eyes before setting to his breakfast with an appreciative look. Sirius, who had been up earlier and had already eaten, took a second plate on the run and disappeared upstairs to make sure the elves weren't being cursed by ancient Black artefacts. Remus eyed Maia interestedly, and asked, "So, Dumbledore said you're to start Hogwarts in September. Any idea what O.W.L. classes you'll be signing up for?"

She sighed heavily, a foul look on her face as she glared at her bacon. "Well, Diane's been teaching me History of Magic, Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Herbology and Arithmancy for years," Maia said. "So I'm probably more advance than O.W.L. level. I suppose I'll have to keep studying Transfiguration, Potions and Charms at an inferior level to what I've been studying. And I've never really had formal education in Defence as a subject, I've mostly learned spells and counter-curses and about Dark creatures through researching other things…"

Alongside Maths at sixth-form college, Diane had been teaching Maia Arithmancy and Ancient Runes since she had first learned to read; she had been raised multilingual, Diane and Septimus wanting her to have the benefit of knowing multiple languages. Maia had shown an aptitude for numbers early on, and Arithmancy, far more difficult than her A-Level Maths, was incredibly difficult and very engaging. But she had been taught by Diane, not out of any textbook. If she pursued the subjects, Maia would be able to apply not only for a place at the Auror Academy, but could follow Bill Weasley's footsteps in the pursuit of a career curse-breaking, go into Healing or apply to a position at the Ministry. Diane had taken her to South America last year; Maia had become obsessed with the ancient Mayan tombs, though her mind had been blown when they then visited Egypt.

"And since we lived in the countryside, miles away from any towns, Diane taught me Astronomy," Maia said. She had always loved those nights, bundled up in quilts, with a cup of tea each, observing the stars. "Diane raised me to be multilingual, and I have pen-pals abroad… Diane could only teach me things that didn't actively require magic; the rest of it, I studied independently. Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms. Although Diane arranged for lots of her wizard friends to help me sometimes, in their various specified areas. I think I'd like to pursue Herbology at Hogwarts, I hear the greenhouses are some of the finest in the world. I've met grown wizards abroad who seethe with envy that children get to experience the greenhouses."

"Not that I'd know much of what you mean, but what did you study at the Muggle school?" Remus asked.

"Well, because I'm smart, my teachers bumped me up early," Maia said, without conceit. "So I just sat my A-Levels, but I took more than any other student."

"More?"

"Usually you sit three, maybe four A-Levels," Maia said. "After GCSE, you choose four classes you want to continue with at AS-Level; after those exams, you drop one subject, and take exams at A-Level the next year. I took Maths, Further Maths, Early and Late History, Art, Classical Civilisation, Chemistry, and English Literature." She also read all her friends' texts on the subjects they were taking – Law, Psychology, Philosophy.

"And what had you intended to do with your examination results?" Remus asked curiously.

"Well, if Diane hadn't… I mean…she was ill, so I didn't want to apply to university and leave her alone…but if she had been well, I would have applied to university," Maia said sadly. Everyone at sixth-form, students and teachers alike, had expected Maia to apply to Oxbridge and the American Ivies. She explained to Remus about the UCAS application system, the extortion of student loans thanks to the current government, and the universities. "Being accepted to Harvard, Yale, Oxford or Cambridge is equivalent to being accepted to the Auror Academy. They're the oldest and _best_ higher-education schools in the world, everyone aspires to go to them…"

"And you were expected to go to these schools?"

"I'm smart," Maia sighed, shrugging slightly. She was in the top five in the country for maths and languages, but that had come from a lifelong love-affair with numbers and travelling. "To be honest, though, even if Diane hadn't been ill, I don't know whether I'd have wanted to leave the Hobbit-hole to go and live in grotty halls-of-residence, in a huge city…" She smiled wryly to herself, _Didn't you jump at the chance to do that with Sirius_? Professor Dumbledore had said she could go back to the Hobbit-hole any time she wanted.

"You get Careers Advice from your Head of House during your fifth year, so you can start to think about which subjects you need or want to continue into N.E.W.T. year for future careers," Remus said, setting his teacup down with a thoughtful look at her. "When I taught at Hogwarts, there were a surprising number of students who came to me, distraught and seeking advice, after realising they'd not taken the subjects necessary to pursue the careers they wanted. I think you'll have the advantage there, coming in so late."

"I suppose," Maia said quietly. "I thought I wanted to be a cryptologist, or become a foreign ambassador, Aunt Diane taught me a lot of languages, but now…"

"Regardless of what you get into, you have a firmer idea of who _you_ are," Remus said. "That's far more important than what magic you know. And I'm certain you know more than you'd like to let on."

Studying independently meant Maia made the rules of her curriculum. She had acknowledged the core curriculum that students of Hogwarts would have been set, but travelling to foreign countries so often, Maia had adopted some of the curriculum from foreign schools, studying further out of books and prescribing herself homework, corresponding with foreign witches and wizards in academia. She loved to _learn_, to experiment, disregarding how dangerous it could sometimes have turned out, considering Diane could have done nothing to help; she was an extraordinarily clever, highly creative girl with a fearless streak, a leaning towards genius offset by quirks like bouts of insomnia that punished her for overworking, which she was prone to do. And she had run the risk of focusing too much on her studies, to the detriment of her personal relationships. Diane had always worried Maia was letting her childhood pass her by, but Maia liked the balance she had achieved.

She was kneading away, batches of fresh dough already rising – some for bread, a batch for doughnuts and some plain scones – as she and Remus talked. She lifted a tray of sausage-rolls out of the oven, avoiding the paperwork Remus was going through, as well as the bowls of dried fruits, nuts, orange zest and spices ready to be kneaded into a sweet fruit-bread. She and Remus had washed up from breakfast together, convincing Kreacher they were perfectly happy to pitch in, and that if he wanted he could head upstairs to help the others; she liked Remus a lot, and could understand why he would be an appealing teacher. He regretted having to leave Hogwarts, where he had held the position of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts for a year.

"I think, now that you mention it, I've heard about you," Maia said, frowning thoughtfully at him. "You taught two years ago, didn't you? My best-friend Elsa's sister was studying to take her O.W.L.s."

"What was her name?" Remus asked.

"Etherly. Louvel," Maia added, and Remus smiled, chuckling softly.

"Ah, Etherly. She was very particular about her blonde hair," Remus smiled, and Maia nodded, pulling a face. That was Etherly in a nutshell. "I made frequent visits to the Hospital Wing to give Etherly her homework, after she had been jinxed and hexed at breakfast… Apparently her sister has a propensity to send homemade hexed items to her slipped into the tuckbox her parents would send."

Maia blinked innocently. "That so?"

"Mm," Remus said, his eyes twinkling over the rim of his teacup. "I've heard all about _you_, too." Maia tried to stifle a grin.

"In my defence, she knows we always mean it in good fun," she said.

"The mini Victoria sponges were inspired," Remus mused, cooling his tea. "The entire fifth-year Hufflepuff class just didn't turn up one morning. Etherly had shared them out." Maia's lips twitched. She knew that. Etherly had sent a couple of colourful Howlers. But the Victoria sponges had been a gorgeous opportunity, Maia hadn't been able to resist.

"Etherly says she only got through her Defence O.W.L. because _you_ were her teacher that year," she said. "She says you really helped the fifth-years, going over everything they should've studied in previous years, with proficient teachers… Do you miss teaching?"

"I do," Remus nodded. He looked very sad for a moment. "I never thought I would have."

"Diane and I have been working with a friend of ours for over two years, he's getting geared up to open the first wizard primary-school," Maia said, brightening up, though a little misgiving tweaked her stomach. Few people in the broad wizarding community would ever approach her contact, the stigma against his kind was so vicious.

"Oh really? That's interesting!" Remus said, his eyes lighting up. "Where's this, Hogsmeade?"

"No, the Shire," Maia said, and Remus did a subtle double-take.

"In…in the village?" he asked, and Maia nodded, smiling.

"Mm-hmm. One of the buildings is perfect for it, the garden is huge and there's a meadow behind, the rooms are full of light," Maia said warmly. "We've been helping get the building ready for months now, you know, decorating it, getting the rooms kitted out, sorting out the curriculum. The trouble is, Alexander's having real trouble finding staff."

"Why? It's an inspired idea," Remus said, looking surprised.

Maia sighed heavily. "He's a werewolf. Nobody wants him." She gave Remus a smile so suddenly he jumped. "Except us. We have him over for tea nearly every week. And he reads through all the essays I'd written."

"You invite a werewolf to tea?" Remus asked, looking surprised. Maia chuckled.

"It sounds like the title of a bad movie, doesn't it?" she smiled. "It was mostly Diane, I learned all my liberal views from her. Being a squib, she had to learn to do things different. She saw the world from a different perspective. So when he was bitten, Diane was the only one to keep in contact. He's still the same person he's always been, he just struggles far more, and it's not even his fault. He didn't ask to be bitten… I think he used to teach Defence at Hogwarts, too. He says he really loved it there. This was before he was bitten."

"What is his name?" Remus asked curiously.

"Alexander Tueri," Maia smiled warmly. Her tall blonde Viking with those punishingly blue eyes and unquenchable talent for injecting everything with fun and enthusiasm. If it hadn't been for socialising Maia, Diane would quite happily have kept her at home, letting Alexander tutor her. He was always smiling, always kind, and he had a sort of way about him, especially with children, like the Eleventh Doctor. Quirky, deeply loyal, very clever and fun, but when it was time to learn, he made people want to do their best for him. People respected him, until they realised he was a werewolf. The name seemed to spark recognition in Remus, who looked mildly surprised, and very interested.

"And he wants to open a school?" Remus asked curiously.

"For werewolf children," Maia said lightly. "Well, not specifically for them, I suppose, he'd welcome any wizard child who wanted to learn. But the idea is, if werewolves were brought together at a young age, a big group who were all affected, it wouldn't actually be an issue for any of them. They'd have it in common, so actually, it would be unremarkable. They'd have Wolfsbane Potion provided every month, a safe place to transform where they don't have to worry about hurting others… They'd build a community that's not centred on the shame and resentment of being expelled from the wizard community…"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Remus said quietly. "What has your friend Alexander done toward this school?"

"Well, it's actually almost ready to open – Alexander just needs pupils! Diane and I helped him put together a new curriculum, he thinks it should be a primary-school, you know, because the aim is to actually get werewolf children to Hogwarts," Maia said, her back straightening a little. She may not have attended Hogwarts yet, but she didn't see why the opportunity should be denied to anyone, as long as they had magic in their veins, and especially when precautions were available so that no-one was hurt. "And _I_ thought that, if he's starting a brand-new school, with such a fresh attitude, why does it have to be limited to werewolves? Why not introduce a different perspective toward Muggles, studying their _culture_, actively integrating with their world so we're educated about the way their cultures have evolved? So, learning about their history and literature, their music, sports and art. And teaching the children things like languages, and handicrafts like knitting and sewing, alongside spelling and maths. Really I just think their socialisation is the most important thing, but I do love the idea of integrating Muggle culture with a wizard's education, because the way _I_ see the world is so different, from having had that experience."

"I imagine being educated amongst Muggles would have broadened your mind about them," Remus said.

"Yeah. And, it's not even just that. I was raised by a Squib and a –" she glanced around the kitchen hastily, knowing how touchy Dashy still was on the subject "a free elf we took in after she was banished from her family. I myself am a _bastard_." Though, Jon Snow had done much for the bastards of the world, Maia felt. "How are any of us in any position to judge others?" Remus's smile was warm and appreciative, his eyes dancing as he regarded her.

"You are very unusual, Maia," he said softly, setting down his teacup.

"And I find that very sad," she sighed. "Anyway… Diane tried to bolster support with a lot of her friends at the Ministry to get some funding for the school… But there's _Umbridge_."

"I hate that woman," Remus said, and his features turned uncharacteristically nasty. Maia nodded in fierce agreement.

"I _loathe_ her," she said, grinding her jaw, her expression dangerous. "Did you hear what she said about Squibs on the wireless the other night?"

"I heard," Remus said darkly.

"That woman needs savaging by a manticore," Maia said dispassionately. "I doubt anyone would mourn her."

"Fudge might. He's started relying very heavily on her."

"He could do with offing too," Maia said grimly. She sighed. "That was unkind. I know he's just power-hungry, and people are whispering in his ears, compounding his insecurities…"

"How are you going to reconcile a school for underage werewolves, when adult ones are segregated from society, unable to find paid work?" Remus asked.

"Well, the school is on private property and bankrolled by _me_," Maia said, shrugging unconcernedly. "And I'd _love_ the chance to cross wands with Umbridge… I know there'll be a lot of public outcry. I made my peace a long time ago that other people don't have the same opinions I do, which is a shame… But this is something I'm passionate about, I _believe_ in it… I've been doing some research, with different apothecary suppliers, I'm trying to work out the most cost-effective way of producing Wolfsbane Potion. Because it _should _be available free of charge to anyone affected who wants to take it. But the inventor's really cornered the market because it's so abysmally difficult to make, and who has the kind of money for the ingredients it requires, anyway, just to try it and fail? Especially when the instances of werewolves having been tutored in magic are tragically few."

"It is an exceptionally difficult potion," Remus said quietly. "Very few wizards are up to making it. And even those with the talent would shun the idea, just on principal."

"I know," Maia said coolly. "I contacted a few of Diane's potioneer friends. A few of _them _will be getting a little extra _zing_ in their Christmas card this year." Remus chuckled softly. "But I've been working on brewing Wolfsbane Potion myself, and Alexander said the potion was perfect the last time he took it on the full-moon. For the moment, I said I'd supply the school with it. And I've figured out rather a clever way to fund the school without having to keeping making withdrawals from my vault without putting anything back in, Alexander was always very proud about not being a charity-case. But I think that's stupid – family takes care of each other."

"You've…made Wolfsbane Potion? That's a very difficult potion – do you not want to talk to Dumbledore about going into N.E.W.T. potions?"

"He wouldn't put me up, he'll say the experience will be beneficial and I can't have preferential treatment," Maia said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, Wolfsbane _is_ difficult, but I've worked on more stressful ones – I actually quite enjoyed it, I had to be _so_ specific and pay so much attention, there wasn't room for me to daydream and get distracted by other things. And Alexander and I had the idea that students who leave his school at ten to attend Hogwarts receive grants to pay for books and treats while they're at school, an incentive to keep them in education. Sirius said the Order is trying to address the werewolf issue. Alexander and I get into arguments about it, the werewolf offices being split between Beast and Being Divisions at the Ministry – _I _think there should be a separate department for werewolves alone; they're unique, and should be treated as such. Alexander says I just really want someone to rent one of the buildings down in Bywater, and that's true, there's an entire village magically-hidden from Muggles, and every single one of the buildings is empty, meanwhile Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley are groaning fit to burst, St Mungo's is located in the heart of a _city_… Actually, if you'd like to put it on the Order's docket, Diane has been working with Healer Lark of St Mungo's for nearly five years, planning to open a children's hospital in the Shire."

"Really?" Remus raised his eyebrows.

"Flora's wonderful, she really knows her stuff, and she's very liberal-minded – I'd definitely contact her about the Order," Maia mused. Talking about the primary-school, about Alexander, her inventions, the children's hospital, _The Talon_, got Maia excited, in a way few things really did. She didn't really care about following Quidditch, why would she want to gossip about celebrities she didn't know? But she was enthusiastic to the point of obsessional about those things, took absolute pride in being part of the process to create Alexander's curriculum, decorate the wards of the new hospital, design the children's and Healer's uniforms and inpatient robes, the playrooms, libraries, tuck-shops and tea-rooms, even choosing the artwork for the walls.

Remus was giving her an odd look, but Maia had learned not to show disquiet at people's reactions to her views. She was polite and tried to keep her tongue about other people's opinions, except in the most disgusting situations, and hoped that others wouldn't be absolute shits to her for her own beliefs. But werewolves – any part-human, really – had become such a contentious issue recently in British wizard politics. Everyone had an opinion – and usually, they settled on a range of nastiness, from pitying and fearing them to wanting them all exterminated. The term _Holocaust_ came to mind whenever Maia thought about Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, glancing at Remus. "I get carried away – and talking about this sort of thing always makes people uncomfortable, especially when they disagree but are too polite to start bellowing. Sometimes I almost prefer a good row to being silently judged."

"I don't mind at all," Remus said, smiling softly. "Never let other people deter you, especially when you feel so strongly about something… Do you get into arguments a lot?"

"Not really, mostly in exceptional circumstances. Diane taught me to count to five, and take the higher ground. Sometimes it's difficult, though," Maia sighed. "And usually it's with strangers I see are being complete shits. _Rudeness_ is completely unnecessary. It's the weak person's imitation of strength. Sometimes I just get so exasperated I can't be bothered even to argue, they're obviously too obtuse, there's no getting them to see from another perspective. Diane used to say you can't change people's minds – they have to make the decision to grow themselves."

"Sirius was always getting into arguments when he was your age," Remus smiled wryly. "He had – he _has_ – a short fuse."

"And sharp teeth! I wouldn't say I have a short fuse, I'm actually considered quite mellow by my friends. Elsa's the nutter, but I have a few buttons that you don't want to press," Maia said.

"And werewolf rights are one of them?" Remus smiled softly, his eyes glittering.

"Mm-hmm. Especially them, but the way wizards treat house-elves. I don't think it's right," Maia said, sighing sadly.

"I'd very much appreciate the names of your contacts, if you don't mind giving them," Remus said thoughtfully.

"Get them involved in something that _helps_ them and improves their status?" Maia smiled. "They'll be _thrilled_. And some of them would be _very_ instrumental to the Order's efforts, if you're pursuing legal means of affecting change for all sorts of things. Mrs Lovett was the previous Head of the International Office of Magical Law – her husband was an Unspeakable. Mrs Lovett sat on the Wizengamot, too. Their son Christian left Hogwarts a few years ago, now he's trying to support them all financially – he's not a werewolf but he's passionate about changing their legal status. Those new employment laws Umbridge pushed through are a _bitch_."

"I've heard of the Lovetts," Remus said, frowning thoughtfully. "I had no idea they were afflicted."

"They don't like people to know, they think it'll affect Christian's career if he's seen to associate with werewolves, especially with the present political climate toward _part-humans_," Maia said, sneering the term. "Christian's in Amos Diggory's department at the Ministry."

"Well that will certainly come in handy," Remus said.

"Mm," Maia said, pursing her lips as she smacked the dough on the table-top rather roughly.

"You don't like Amos Diggory?"

"I don't like the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, it's all _wrong_," Maia said angrily, glowering at the dough as she needed it with both hands. "I cannot understand why Veela and Vampires are classed as Being, yet werewolves, who are only a danger to humans once a month, are classed as Beast when they're suffering through their transformations, and Being at other times, yet the stigma attached to them is so strong – yet a _Veela_ can turn on you in a heartbeat, they're _so_ temperamental and vain. And as for vampires… I just don't understand. When Fudge leaves office and Amelia Bones is named Minister, I'll be having her to dinner to have a chat about reorganising that Department."

"Do you anticipate Fudge's retirement will happen very soon?" Remus asked, his lips twitching.

"If I had any say in the matter, he'd be packing his desk up now," Maia sniffed, smacking the dough down. "I cannot believe a wizard like _that_ is now polishing the seat my _grandfather_ sat in. Everyone tells me what an exceptional person he was. How did Fudge even get the job? Was it popularity?"

"That. And after Crouch's son was caught with Death Eaters, he lost favour," Remus said, and Maia shot him a dark frown. "And there was no need for a wizard like Scrimgeour, of the Auror Department, or someone like Crouch to take the Minister's spot, or so people thought. Voldemort was defeated; our lives were good again."

"But that should have been exactly the time when a witch like Amelia could have made staggering progress for our society," Maia said irritably, working the dough between her hands. "There was no external threat to fight; they should have looked inward, purged the Ministry, reformed everything Voldemort found so easy to manipulate and corrupt. The Dementors were _on_ Voldemort's side – _why_ are they still guarding Azkaban? They'll be the first to defect. And the werewolves – with Greyback running for mayor amongst them, it's no surprise they'd follow the Death Eaters, when they're promised things our society has step by step been ripping from them – I blame Newt Scamander, his Werewolf Registry. Did we really _need_ to know all the secrets of our neighbours?" Remus laughed softly.

"What are we talking about?" a hoarse voice asked; Sirius had reappeared, watching Maia kneading dough with a slight frown on his face.

"The Ministry, Sirius," Remus said, still smiling at Maia. He filled three teacups with a fresh brew of Maia's favourite milk oolong tea. "Milk, Maia?"

"Not in the oolong, thank you," Maia said, smiling as she received her cup and saucer, her fingers sticky with dough for scones.

"Maia plans to restructure the Ministry," Remus said, his eyes twinkling as he sipped his tea. "She's told me all about it – Amelia Bones is set to be the next Minister, by the way."

"Oh, indeed?"

"From my lips to Merlin's ears…" Maia said, glancing upwards, and Remus chuckled. "She's perfect for the job – she's not a blundering fool like Fudge, too fond of his own position – she's fair, and incorruptible, and _clever_, too. She knows what she's good at, appreciates who's trustworthy, and knows how to delegate when she knows she's not an expert in the area."

"And Maia will be inviting Amelia Bones to tea to discuss restructuring the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures – when she's not opening primary-schools and children's hospitals," Remus said, his eyes twinkling. "She's been telling me all about it, Padfoot."

"Well, tell _me_ too," Sirius smiled. "Help me hone my mind, Maia. When are you off, Moony?"

"Soon," Remus sighed. "I've a few contacts to approach, I'm just waiting on the post." Five minutes later, a handsome owl was hovering by the enormous half-moon window. Maia shivered and edged away from the window as the owl hopped inside; she wasn't a fan of _birds_. A second owl fluttered in through the open window. "And that's the paper – where's the –?"

"Red pot," Sirius said, and Remus shot Sirius a grin before darting to the little red pot tucked into the corner of the windowsill amongst Maia's herbs, from which Maia saw Remus take a little bronze coin, which he tucked into a little pouch on the second owl's leg before taking the newspaper. He detached the wad of papers from the first owl's leg, and they took off one after the other. Both chuckling softly, smiles reminiscent as Remus sat back down at the table, Maia just watched, as Remus separated the crosswords in the _Entertainment_ Section from the back of the newspaper, handing it to Sirius, who refilled Remus's teacup, Remus handing him the quill before Sirius brought his hand back. Watching, everything seemed so natural, a tradition they didn't even really seem to realise they were re-enacting. If Maia hadn't known they had been best-friends since they were eleven years old, if she hadn't known they had lived together once before, Maia would have found it funny how synchronised their movements were. Sirius noticed it first, and he chuckled long and softly, saying, "Just like old times." But there was a sad, wistful gleam to his eyes as he turned his eyes from Remus to Maia.

"Dumbledore's worried about the number of owls we might receive," Remus said, glancing from Sirius to Maia. "He says you have a lot of correspondence, Maia." Maia nodded.

"Well, in that case we might as well pay for a post-box in Diagon Alley," Sirius said, hidden behind the newspaper. Maia glanced quickly at Sirius; he didn't expect _her _to go into the Post Office with all those dive-bombing owls with their sharp beaks, and set it up? Apparently, Remus did.

"You wouldn't mind, would you, Maia? I'd do it but I've a dozen things I need to do today, and obviously, Sirius can't," Remus said, glancing at his friend.

"I don't really like birds," Maia winced, her stomach going flippy-floppy at the idea of all those beaks and rustling feathers and hungry amber eyes. Sirius let out a bark-like laugh.

"That, you can blame on Margaid. I _told_ her not to let that budgie out of the cage," he sighed, still chuckling a little. "Went straight for your eyes. Pecked your nose awfully, too." Maia grimaced and reached up to pinch her nose.

"I'd always wondered," she said softly. She wasn't morbidly frightened of birds, she could walk into the Post Office with her shoulders thrown back if she had to – but only if she _had to_. She would never choose to get a pet owl, and Flox knew better than to ask her to admire the hippogriffs he bred. It also explained her annoyance with and aversion to the changeable Veela – even though she had a great-great-grandmother who was one. Apparently the white-blonde hair and flaring temper cropped up a few times each generation, but Maia hadn't inherited the pearly skin, moonlight-silver hair. Or the beak.

"I'll go with you," Sirius chuckled, ignoring the warning look his best-friend gave him. "Keep the nasty beaky birds away."

"I appreciate that," Maia said, with dignity.

"So what's all this food for?" Sirius asked, smiling as his eyes turned hungry, gazing at the cooling sausage-rolls, bread and scones over the top of his paper.

"Lunch. The elves'll need to eat," she said. "And you two need fattening up, and _I'm_ hungry." Sirius chuckled as she swatted playfully at the hand he stretched out to take a still-hot scone, "And Remus says there will probably be people stopping by every day to check in and deliver news. And if reading _The Hobbit_ taught me anything, it's to keep a fully-stocked pantry." Remus groaned, just as Sirius's eyes flew wide, beaming.

"You've read Tolkien!"

"Have _you_?" Maia was highly surprised.

"He wanted us to go searching for Smaug," Remus said drily, not looking up from the letters he had opened. Maia chuckled.

"Lily gave me a copy our sixth year at Hogwarts," Sirius said, with an idle grin, and she could see the teenager shining through, drenched in the sunshine pouring through the open window. "We had Secret Santa – James absolutely loathed me for two days when he realised Lily'd picked my name."

"Did you know they're bringing out the last instalment of _The Hobbit_ in the cinemas this December?" she asked, and Sirius's jaw dropped, his eyes turning a dazzling silver with sheer delight. "Elsa and I have already booked the date."

"Elsa's your friend?"

"Mm-hmm. She's a witch. We used to go to the same Muggle primary-school. Remus used to teach her sisters," Maia said, smiling warmly. "Her family moved up to Scotland when we were about eight or nine, but we kept writing to each other, and visiting. She's my best-friend. She's incorrigible."

"She's a witch? And she watches Muggle films?"

"Well, her dad's a Muggle-born," Maia explained. "And she doesn't like to miss out on things. I've had to stop her trying to Apparate to Hollywood to stalk her favourite actor." She rolled her eyes. "I can't say I put in much effort, I find him tasty too… They've already brought out all of the _Lord of the Rings_ films," Maia said, and Sirius practically bounced off his chair, eager to watch them. "You'd need an entire day free to watch them all," Maia chuckled. "I've got the DVDs upstairs."

"DVDs?" Sirius frowned. "I thought it was…video-cassettes."

"Oh, those are old," Maia laughed, and tried to explain DVDs to Sirius, though she confessed that, "with modern technology, most people use it, even if they don't understand how it actually works." Remus was going through his correspondence, giving a sigh of relief.

"It turns out I can come to Diagon Alley with you, if you'd like, Maia," Remus said, glancing across the table at her. "I've someone I'm to meet at eleven o'clock at the Leaky Cauldron, the rest of my morning is free. So if you don't mind me tagging along." Maia smiled and shook her head; she didn't mind.

"If we set off now," Sirius suggested, "we could be back for lunchtime and then help the elves with the cleaning?" Maia nodded.

"There are things I need to get," she said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Things I need sorted, things I've let slip the last few weeks. Alright – let me get changed, and I need to talk to the elves before we go…" Up in her dressing-room, she scrutinised her reflection. She usually altered her hair with magic every fortnight at sixth-form college, every other day if she was amongst wizards. She loved playing with her hair – today she Transfigured it to platinum-blonde (she wasn't very tanned yet, otherwise it didn't look good at all; she always stayed darker in the summer, because her skin absorbed the sunshine) with a thick chunk at the front a gradient fuchsia. She created one fat victory-roll, making her think of raspberry-ripple ice-cream, and shortened her hair to shoulder-length, curling it softly. Dressing in a fresh pair of fitted dark-denim shorts and a plain black t-shirt, she pulled on her favourite pair of black velvet Cuban-heeled ankle boots and called the house-elves to her in the entrance-hall. Kreacher looked like a wizened old member of the Roman senate in his pillowcase-toga, but he looked happier for the company – Tootles, in his magnificent getup of patterned shirt, bowtie, snappy waistcoat and sharp tailored suit jacket, a boutonnière of a fuchsia ranunculus, tiny succulents and herbs glowing on the lapel, a softer pink pocket-square folded ever so beautifully like a rose in his pocket; Snodgrass, in his trousers, lovely patterned shirt and the navy tie printed with bicycles Maia had given him last Christmas, the gold of a sinuous watch-chain glinting across his chest over his waistcoat; Thistletack, in her hand-knitted cardigan, airy floral-printed skirt and the delicate jewelled gold cardigan collar-clips Diane had left her attached to the prettily-patterned blouse she wore; and Wipple, in her vintage-style tiny tea-dress and sandals, a tiny gold heart-shaped locket shining on her chest.

"Thank you all for coming to help, I know you've got a lot of things to do already," Maia said, smiling at them. "But this is overtime, so I will be giving you a pay-rise – _and I don't want to hear a word against it!_ – Sirius and I are going to Diagon Alley, so do you all need anything? I forgot to pick up that knitting-pattern you'd ordered, Thistletack, I'm sorry, I'll get it now. And I know you're running low on Drooble's, Wipple, I couldn't even smell you out if I'd tried. I'll be picking up things for the school and the hospital, too, have you been making lists? Excellent, thank you," she added, as Tootles and Wipple scurried forward, producing neatly-folded bits of parchment sealed with wax; Maia guessed they had been waiting to see her to give their lists to her. "Have you been corresponding with Flora and Alexander? I'd hoped not to fall behind…"

"They are very understanding, Miss Maia," Wipple squeaked sadly, her bat-like ears drooping. "Although Healer Lark does ask that…that you write her a letter at your earliest convenience, she wishes to discuss some delicate matters with you, she says perhaps at the tea-shop in Diagon Alley."

"Oh, she'll be anxious about the werewolf ward," Maia grumbled, crinkling her nose. "I don't think she's convinced yet about having you running the tea-shop at the hospital either. But we'll show her, won't we?" She caught Wipple's eye, noting how tiny she seemed, even more than usual – she barely reached Maia's knee, she was so tiny, even for a house-elf; she appeared to be shaking. "Wipple, what's wrong?"

"Miss Maia, there's a – er – _there's something in the master bedroom_," Wipple whispered, looking stricken, sliding big brown eyes on Sirius and back to Maia.

"Oh – that'll be Buckbeak," Sirius spoke up; he'd been watching Maia with an inscrutable expression on his face. "Condemned hippogriff," he added, when Maia raised her eyebrows. "Sentenced to death two years ago, after the Malfoy brat antagonised him; Harry and Hermione freed him. He's how I escaped again."

"There's a hippogriff – he can't stay _here_, Sirius!" Maia blurted, shocked and indignant. Forget the fact she didn't like _birds_… "We're in the middle of a city, he can't be kept cooped up inside, that's animal cruelty!"

"We've only been here less than a week," Sirius frowned, and Maia scowled back. "And Hagrid can't take him back, he's going off for Dumbledore." Maia frowned, then glanced down at Wipple.

"Wip, go and tell Flox there's a hippogriff here," she said, and Wipple nodded. She disappeared with a soft _crack_, and Maia glanced at Sirius, her expression clearing. "Flox has been caring for Uncle Septimus' hippogriffs for years, he breeds them; he'll take good care of Buckbeak. Might even get him a lady-friend if he's handsome enough." Sirius scoffed gently, but sighed.

"It'll do him good, being with other hippogriffs again," he sighed. "I wanted to give him back to Hagrid, but there's always the worry he'll be recognised. Do we need to stick around to sort Buckbeak out?"

"If you want to say goodbye or something," Maia shrugged. "Flox is very good, though, and you can go and visit at the Shire Stables." Sirius drifted off upstairs, and Maia took the opportunity, while Dashy wandered back into the library, and Remus went to check the level of Floo Powder in the kitchen, to glance urgently at the other elves. "Right, I want samples of all the fungi and things you find here, and any powders and potions ingredients you can find. Pop them up in the room Sirius's given me, I'll sort through them." The elves smiled, Snodgrass rolling his eyes slightly; he was too used to her to be anything but amused by her unusual tendencies. Sirius returned looking a bit surlier, before transforming into an enormous bear-like black dog with glowing silvery eyes.

* * *

**A.N.**: An update! I know, you're shocked.


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